Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Whitney waits for me to go around and open the door for her. She’s all about girl power but also likes when I do things like that for her.
I try to take her hand again, but she doesn’t let me, which makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I try to ignore it. Things are fine. We just have to adjust to being together again after summer break.
“Reservation for Theo Bassett,” I tell the hostess, and she leads us to a table in the corner. I pull the chair out for her because I’m chivalrous as fuck, smiling proudly at myself. Goddamn, I’m a good boyfriend.
“I missed you,” I tell her again. And I did. That’s not just a line. Sure, things are awkward, but she’s my girl.
“You’re so cute, Theo.” She grins.
“So I’ve heard.” I wink, being playful.
We order our food, and Whit tells me all her plans for the year, talks to me about her sorority sisters, and on and on. She can really talk when she wants to, and I try to be a good listener, but occasionally, my eyes start to feel heavy.
“Oh my God. You’re falling asleep while I’m talking!” Whitney snaps, and I jerk my head up.
“No I’m not.” I definitely was. Damn it.
“Whatever, Theo.”
“I’m sorry.” This isn’t going as planned, but luckily, the waiter comes over with our food, so the subject changes.
I do my best to be attentive as we eat, asking her tons of questions and listening to all her answers. After I pay, we walk to an ice cream parlor, where I buy us each a cone while trying not to stress about money.
When we pull up at Whitney’s house, I turn off the car and unclick my seat belt.
Whitney puts her hand on mine. “We need to talk, Theo.”
My stomach twists. Was there one example, ever, in the history of the world, where a good sentence began with the words we need to talk? I might not be a stats kinda guy, but my money is on no.
“Okay…” I drag out the word as if that will change anything.
“I don’t think this is working.”
“This, as in…” Again, I let the words hang as if I don’t know exactly what she’s talking about.
“Us. Me and you. I’ve known for a while, but…”
“But you couldn’t tell me before I blew almost two hundred dollars on dinner, flowers, and shit.”
“Theo!”
“What? It’s true.” I shrug. I’m not trying to be a dick, but she could have let me in on that fact before I spent the day trying to be the perfect boyfriend—and nailing it, I might add. Well, except for the almost falling asleep while she spoke.
“This is exactly the reason why. You don’t really care about me. You were falling asleep on me.”
“Maybe because all the conversations are about you?” I venture. Had she asked me one single question? Did she ever? I didn’t mind, not really, but can she really blame me for dozing off?
“Whatever. I should have known you wouldn’t get it. We’re too different. I thought we could make this work, but I can’t keep letting you hold me back.”
Hold her back? How in the fuck have I been doing that? “Um…what?”
“You don’t know who you are. Or what you want. You have no direction. Do you even want to be with me, or do you stay because it’s easy and you don’t want to upset anyone?”
Her words feel like a slap in the face, not because they’re wrong, but because they’re right. Whitney might have totally fucked up in her breakup delivery, but I can’t say she’s wrong.
I don’t want to be with her. I haven’t for a while. I hated tonight. I hate this stupid collared shirt, and I…have no idea what I want. I just go along with everything.
“I know who I am,” I lie.
“Who?” she asks, and I just stare at her, unsure how to answer. Holy fuck. This sucks. Why couldn’t she have kept pretending with me?
“Maybe I could have found a better way to do this, and maybe I should have told you before we went out tonight, but you know I’m right, Theo. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Without another word, Whit gets out of the car and walks away, while I sit in her driveway, trying to figure out what in the hell just happened.
CHAPTER TWO
Perry
“Are you Tyson Langley’s long-lost brother?” a girl I don’t recognize asks as she leans over the counter at Shenanigans, the bar where I work, which is close to the Franklin University campus. Her ample cleavage is on display. I can’t lie and pretend I don’t notice, but my gaze doesn’t linger. Not because I don’t like breasts, because I do. A lot. They’re actually one of my favorite things, but at the same time, I try to respect women. Being raised by a single mom who dealt with a lot of asshole men drove that lesson home for me at a very young age. It’s a wonder I’m attracted to men too, because I’ve seen a lot of dickheads, but I’m as equally down to bone men as I am women.