Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“Do you have a girlfriend that I don’t know of?” There’s almost an accusation in her tone and her lips purse unhappily.
Golden locks of hair and hazel eyes flash in front of my vision.
Oaklynn mentioned a girlfriend and all I can think of is the girl with sorrowful eyes, the one who frequently visits my daydreams and my heated ones at night.
I wish I had asked her for her real name.
I wish we had more time together.
I wish she had asked me to stay longer.
I’ve gone back to the park many times, waiting to catch a glimpse of her again. But she never came back. I lost her before I could find her.
And maybe we’ll never meet again…
Sometimes I stay awake at night, wondering where she is, what she’s doing…if she’s okay, if she’s happy or sad. If she’s sitting on another bench, lonely and tragically hopeless.
Somehow, our fake names were fitting. I am as captivated by Goldilocks, as much as Jay Gatsby was obsessed with Daisy Buchanan.
I know Daisy is not her real name, and in my head — I can’t keep calling her something that’s not real. So, I gave her a nickname. Something unique for only her.
Goldilocks.
“So, do you?” Oakylnn asks again, sharply. Her words pull me out of my thoughts.
“Why does that matter?”
She lifts her chin. “Because I want to know if I have a chance. And I don’t want to have my heart hanging up on a boy who’s taken.”
Fair point and I respect her transparency. So, I give her half the truth. “I’m not taken, but I’m also not worth your heart.”
“Is there someone you’re interested in?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Yes,” I confess quietly.
“Is she someone I know?”
I shake my head in response.
“Is she someone in our close circle?”
I shake my head again.
“Does she know you’re interested in her? Is she interested in you?”
I tug on my tie, trying to loosen it around my neck. This thing is restricting my air flow and I can’t fucking breathe. “No to both of your questions.”
Oaklynn is quiet for a second, looking thoughtful. Then she smiles, her pearly white teeth a stark contrast against her smooth mahogany skin. She’s pretty, I won’t deny that. Tall, curvy with hair that reminds me so much of Naomi’s. But she’s not Goldilocks.
She’s not the girl who bandaged my hands. She’s not the girl in my sketchbook.
“Then I still have a chance,” she announces with great confidence.
“No,” I deadpan, but Oaklynn is no longer listening to me.
“She’s not interested in you, Grayson. That’s her loss and my win.” She winks. “I like you. I think we’ll be good together.”
She’s walking away before I can refute her statement. Goddamn it.
Frustrated, I take a sip of wine.
Oaklynn likes me? Why does she like me? Because I’m Grayson Hale now?
Would she like me if I was still the Grayson from before? The one with holes in his shirt, instead of an Armani suit. The forgotten boy in foster care. I wonder if she’d still like me then.
I bet not.
I bet she wouldn’t even bother knowing my name if she were to pass by me on the streets. I would have been just another poor loser — the boy on the wrong side of the tracks to her.
Oaklynn doesn’t like me.
She likes Grayson Hale.
And I can say with utmost certainty.
Oaklynn is a nice girl, but we’re not compatible. I don’t think we ever will be. And I don’t want her hanging onto that hope that we might ever be something more than friends.
“With you standing here like this, you remind me so much of your uncle when we were younger.” Aunt Naveah moves to my side and the frustration clears from my expression. She places her hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. “Thank you for being here, Grayson,” she tells me and there’s more than appreciation in her voice. I hear kindness and affection too.
I give her a mute nod in response. I don’t know what to say to that. Shouldn’t I be the one thanking her? I take another sip of wine, still staring out the window.
She rubs my back. “We wouldn’t beseech you for leaving right now, if you want.”
My head snaps toward her. “You wouldn’t?” I hide my grimace when my tone comes out sounding too hopeful. But Aunt Naveah is not offended. She simply smiles.
“You can go back now, if you’d like. I’ve already told Roger to drop you home. He’s waiting for you outside, in the car.” Roger is our chauffeur.
“How…” I trail off, swallowing. “How did you know I wanted to leave?”
“We just know.”
We? My gaze flickers over to Uncle Ben. He’s talking to someone, but it’s almost as if he can feel me watching him. His attention drifts to me for a nano-second, and he gives me a brief but deliberate nod.