Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Valerie.
Frowning, I start to gather my food and shove it back in my lunch bag. I didn’t finish eating, but my appetite is suddenly gone. “I can’t go to homecoming with you, Hunter.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean, why not?” I say, wide-eyed. “You’re dating Valerie,”
“I don’t have to be.”
I shake my head. “No. I came to your house and I warned you not to cross that line. You did. I don’t know when it happened, I don’t care, but the minute you touched her, you lost the right to touch me. I would have never slept with you that night if I’d have known. Now I know, so… never.” I push up off the ground and grab my things, then I meet his gaze. “You can buy a thousand phones, you can bombard me with presents, but my answer isn’t going to change. I’m never letting you touch me again.”
He holds my gaze, unflinching despite my brutal rejection. “Tell me it’s because you don’t like me. Not because of her. She’s irrelevant. The only way I’ll accept no as your answer is if you really mean it, if you really don’t like me anymore.”
I slide my purse strap on my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if I like you. I’m saying no, and I really mean it. You fucked up, Hunter, and I’ve forgiven you for a lot of things, but not this. I’m never going to forgive you for this.”
___
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, my cell phone resting in my hands.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I try to think how to word the text message that I want to send.
Hey Anderson, we need to talk...
No, that’s not right. Too generic, too obvious. Says too much without really saying anything. Definitely not personal enough.
I erase that and try again.
I am trying to think how to start this message. There’s really no easy way to say this, but I think I may have been caught up in my feelings from the night before when we had that picnic last weekend. Getting back together felt right in the moment, but we’ve barely even spoken to each other since...
No, not that, either.
I backspace and try one more time.
Do you think maybe we got ahead of ourselves when we decided to get back together? We hadn’t even been broken up for a full day. We didn’t really have time to process. I think it was a mistake.
Still doesn’t look right.
Sighing, I drop the phone on the bed and cover my face with my hands.
After a few minutes, I pick it back up, but I close the message to Anderson and flip over to my chain of messages to and from Sara.
Hey! How was lunch on the dark side? Were there cookies, or is that a myth?
No, too glib when I feel so uncomfortable texting her.
I never feel uncomfortable texting Sara, so this is new territory for me.
Stupid territory. I hate it.
I backspace all of that and try again.
So, how’d it go? Did you get to talk to Wally?
That’s a little better. Still not perfect, though.
I don’t know what I want to say.
I end up dropping the phone without sending any messages.
I shove away the thought of unblocking Hunter’s phone number so I can text him. I don’t know what I’d say to him, either, but somehow it still feels easier than talking to Anderson or Sara.
It has been a long, long day and exhaustion creeps up on me. I’m not normally one to take naps in the late afternoon, but I find my eyes drifting closed of their own accord and before I know it, I’m out.
I jerk awake to the sound of my cell phone ringing.
I grope groggily until I feel it under my hand, then I lift the phone and squint at the screen.
A local number I don’t recognize, but it’s a phone call, not a text.
I don’t think Hunter would call me, but I’m still half-expecting him when I clear my throat and answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, can I speak to Riley Bishop?”
“This is,” I say, aware of the slight slurring of my words.
The voice is cheerful, upbeat. Definitely not the voice of someone who requires a late afternoon nap. “Hi, Riley. It’s Debbie from Deb’s Diner. I’m calling because I have your application here, and I was wondering if you’d be free to stop in for an interview.”
My eyes pop open. Suddenly awake, I shove myself up and sit on the bed. “An interview? Oh, yes, that would be amazing. When did you want me to come in?”
“Would tomorrow afternoon be good for you?”
“It would,” I tell her, a grin splitting my face. “Tomorrow would be perfect.”
“Okay, great. Stop in anytime between 1:30 and 2.”
“I’ll be there at 1:30. Thank you so much.”
I feel much, much better about life as a whole when I get off the phone. The only problem is a moment later when my excitement ebbs, my head aches.