Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Doesn’t she know that I love her more than anything? If she heard a rumor about it was just that. I would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship. No other girl matters. I feel like I haven’t slept in months, not since she left me. It’s after midnight, but I’m awake, pacing my bedroom and formulating a plan to get my girl back. I’ll do anything to make her mine again.
No matter what, Gwendolyn Ayala is mine, and I will get her back at all costs.
chapter one
Gwendolyn
Two Weeks Before Prom
Another day of hiding my belly that literally grew overnight. One day, I was wearing my normal clothes, with my midriff showing wearing tight shorts, since this is Savannah with not a care in the world, even through my first trimester. Hell, I was starting to think it was all one big bad dream if not for the ultrasound pics I got at the women's clinic last month confirming what I already knew. Then, one night, I went to bed and woke up with a stomach the size of a bell pepper and definitely not one I can walk around in a halter top with. So, I bought a crap ton of short overalls and like loose-fitting coverups and long skirts.
I walk down the stairs to hear my mom making herself a smoothie, and I roll my eyes because I know what is coming next. “Good morning, my only child. I see we are still in a rut, huh?” I pick up an orange and toss it in my backpack. “Seriously, Gwennie, what is going on with your clothes?” It is like a broken record now and it is making me annoyed. Come to think of it, everything is making me annoyed.
“I’m exhausted.” That is not a lie. “Between last tests, finals, getting ready for graduation, deciding between colleges,” losing my best friend and soulmate, I keep that to myself even though she knows, “I don’t feel like dressing up.”
“Do you want to talk about it, baby girl?'' She walks over to me and holds her arms open. Only because I need it right now, I hug her very awkwardly, keeping the lower half of me from her body, but I wrap my arms around her all the same.
“No, Mom. I appreciate it, but I am okay.”
“I understand. We should go shopping for your prom dress.” And there it is. I pull back from her, pissed off that once again, I let myself get snowed. I know she means well; if circumstances were different, I would be all gung-ho. But now, it just pisses me off to think about it.
“Mom, I told you I am not going.”
“I know you said it, but I figured it was just a knee-jerk reaction to breaking up Hunter. You have to go to prom.” She looks on the verge of tears, and hell, so am I. “This is your final year. This is my chance to shop with you, pick out your dress, take pictures.” Then, all of a sudden, she stops talking and looks at me like she figured out something. “I know. I am going to match you.” She begins clapping her hands, completely oblivious to the fact that I am mortified. “It’s the perfect idea,” she says. Did I mention my mother is a famous matchmaker? She is the top in the U.S. Celebrities come to her to find love or even just compatible dates. The most impressive thing is that she does it all through a short questionnaire and a conversation with the candidates. It is quite amazing, actually, except now when she is trying to do it to me.
“It most certainly is not. Under no circumstances are you to do that. I will not be doing this.” I stomp out of the house, huffing and cursing out loud. All I hear as I am driving off is the sound of my mother calling my name. Without looking back, I pull to the end of the block and cry my eyes out. Seems that is all I am doing nowadays. Everything makes me sad and emotional. Wiping my eyes, I try to gather myself and continue driving to school. When I pull into the parking lot, I spot Hunter getting out of his truck, and my body begins to tingle. I remember all the things we used to do in that truck. The way he would pull me on top of him, slide into me, and watch me ride him into oblivion. Or how after a game when he was sweaty and full of unspent energy, he would drive me to the lake and make me lean over the tailgate while he took the rest of his energy out on my pussy, rutting into me from behind. God, I miss his hands all over me.