Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“Can we have a picture?” one of them asks. I smile and nod, posing for the picture. It takes Layla two seconds to walk back to the car, and that is where I find her waiting for me.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “It’s not usually like that.”
She laughs, and I realize she’s pissed off. “It’s always like that. You just never notice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask her. “It’s my job.”
“It’s your job to play hockey,” she says. “I don’t think your job description includes flirting.”
I want to take a step back. “I wasn’t flirting,” I tell her and think about the whole conversation. “I was being nice.”
“I’ve been around other people who are in the same position as you, and there is a way to be nice without flirting.” She shrugs. “I mean, I don’t really care. That’s a you problem.”
“Oh my God,” I say, laughing. “You’re jealous.”
Chapter 17
Layla
I watch him, my blood to the point of boiling. He went through all this to get me to come out with him and then blatantly flirts with other girls in front of me. And then he thinks I’m jealous. He has lost his goddamn mind. “You’re jealous.” He laughs, and I stand here in front of him with my mouth hanging open.
“You have got to be kidding me?” I’m shocked, and the ice cream is now making my stomach curl. I walk over to the garbage can and toss the ice cream away. “I’m ready to go.”
“Why can’t you just admit it?” he says, looking at me. I look around to see if anyone is looking in our direction. A couple of people are watching us, making me look down at the ground and then back up. “There is nothing wrong with you being jealous.”
I don’t know if I trust myself not to kick him in the balls, so instead, I just grab my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll catch an Uber,” I tell him, trying to get my heart rate to go down and focus on the phone in front of me.
“I’ll drive you,” he says, walking past me and going to throw his ice cream in the garbage. I walk to the car and open my door and close it before he even turns around to walk back. He gets into the car, not saying a word until we are far away from the ice cream place.
“I was just joking with you,” he says, his voice low, and I look over.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, and I just look out the window.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, and I look at him. “I was just …” he starts to say and then stops.
“You were just what?” I’m so curious to see if he gets it.
“I was just happy that you might have been jealous,” he says, and I take a deep breath. “That’s all.”
“For the record, I was not jealous. I was annoyed, but that’s a me problem, and it’s not a you problem, so don’t worry about it,” I tell him as he pulls into my driveway. “Thank you for the ice cream.” I get out of the car as fast as I can. “Good luck in Denver,” I say before I slam the car door.
I practically run into my house and lock the door. Only then do I let the hurt set in and kick myself for even making me feel this way. I ignore the ping of my phone, and I ignore the hurt in my chest by burying it just like I always have.
The next day, it lingers on my mind more than I care, pissing me off that I’m letting it even bother me. I know he’s texted me, but I leave the messages unread, which just makes my phone heavier and heavier.
I’m just getting home a couple of days later when the phone rings. I check the name before I even answer it. “Well, well, well,” I say with a smile. “If it isn’t my best friend.”
Candace laughs right away, and I can hear that I’m on speaker in her car. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my best friend, the big spender,” she says, and I groan.
“Am I never going to live that down?” I unlock the door and walk into my house, tossing my keys on the table in the foyer. I kick off my ballerina flats, dumping my purse and the sweater at the same time at the door.
“Not anytime soon,” she says.
“Is that the only reason you called me?” I shake my head. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“It’s actually the reason I’m calling,” she says. “Ari and I were wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with us.” She mentions her little girl. “Make it a girls’ night.”
I sit on the couch with the phone to my ear and then press speaker. “That sounds like the best idea ever. Is she going to be wearing her Halloween costume?” I smile, thinking of the pictures I saw on Instagram this morning of Ariella dressed up as Minnie Mouse.