Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Well, you should. I thought she was your dream girl that you wanted to settle down with.”
From the very back of my psyche, a little voice starts screaming in the background.
Stop talking.
“There you go again, throwing Kayla in my face. I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you jealous of her?”
“I’m jealous that you’re nice to her. I’m jealous that you respect her enough to accept her opinion. And more than that, I’m jealous that she hasn’t seen your horrible side yet. Because I have, and let me tell you, Blake, it’s not nice. Quite frankly, I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”
His jaw ticks as his eyes hold mine. I know that I’ve just hit a nerve.
“I won’t be seeing Kayla again.”
It’s me who steps back this time, shocked. “Why not?”
“Because she’s not the girl I want.” He gets into his car and slams the door.
Who is?
“Move,” he growls, and I step back out of the way. He reverses the car out at high speed and takes off down the road in first gear. The car revs loudly as he disappears into the distance.
The street falls silent again.
Damn it.
Why are we fighting so much lately?
I blow out a defeated breath and turn to go back to my house. It’s then that I see Carol is standing there in her dressing gown and holding her garden hose.
As usual, she’s pretending to water her stupid garden. She doesn’t fool me. She comes out here every morning to find out what’s going on in the street.
“Morning, Carol.” I wave and fake a smile as I stomp back toward my house.
“Morning.” She smiles. “Don’t worry about him, dear,” she calls. “Lovers’ quarrels make all men crazy.”
What the hell is she going on about now? I frown.
What is wrong with everybody?
“Of course, it’s no secret—when Blake said she’s not the girl he wants, it’s obvious to all who know him which one he does,” she calls.
“Who?”
“Oh, Rebecca.” She laughs. “Are you really this clueless?”
I stare at her as I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. “Obviously, yes, because I don’t know who his dream girl is.”
“It’s you, dear. I’m not sure if he even knows it yet, but it’s definitely you.”
Poor deluded Carol, the woman who thinks she knows everything but actually knows fucking nothing.
She’s a bona fide idiot.
“Have a nice day, Carol.” I wave, then walk back into my house and flop on the couch.
This is just great.
The day is a disaster, and it’s not even 7:00 a.m. yet.
The problem with anger is that it never lasts for long. It comes in like a tsunami, crashing and smashing everything in its way. But as the tide leaves and washes back out to sea, all that is left is a lot of debris and regret.
I don’t think we should be friends anymore.
What a horrible thing to say to somebody, even somebody you just want to be friends with. Let alone somebody that you have feelings for.
I sit in my classroom, and as the class plays freely, I stare out the window. I’m sad today. It’s like this big deadweight is sitting on my shoulders. I’m not here with my class; I’m miles away.
Blake is at a conference, and I can’t even go over and tell him I still want to be friends, because I do.
He’s a great friend. Things have just gotten a little out of hand lately, and I need to rein it in. But we obviously can’t double-date together anymore.
Carol’s words from this morning—about me being his dream girl—keep coming back to me.
Is she right?
Honestly, it feels like everybody these last two weeks has just been telling me how Blake and I are meant to be together, and I’m even feeling it myself.
But Blake was never in my plan.
And unfortunately, he has shown me a side of himself that scares the living crap out of me. He says mean things. He’s spontaneously crazy. Why the hell would I know that about a person and purposefully go back into that zone?
I wouldn’t; it’s stupid.
I’m just confused.
I wish I could talk this out with my friend, because that’s what I would normally do. The problem is that the friend I would normally talk this out with is the person I want to talk about.
“Miss Dalton,” Toby calls, pulling me out of my daydream.
“Yes, Toby.”
“Can we color now?”
You can do whatever you like, Toby. Hell . . . set the classroom on fire, for all I care.
“Sure, why not.” I fake a smile because, let’s be honest, I’m not teaching this class anything today.
They’re on their own.
I lie on my couch and stare at the television. It’s late. Past 9:00 p.m., and I should be getting ready for bed to try and get a good night’s sleep. Lord knows I haven’t slept in the three days since I told Blake I didn’t want to be friends anymore.