Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
“Password?”
“Zero nine, zero six.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Ah…thanks.” She blushed.
I started making some calls, ignoring her for the rest of the journey.
Dylan had to know I’d tried.
She had to.
DYLAN
“Oh my gosh, girl, looking fierce!” Three girls shrieked when I squeezed my way toward my seat, an hour late and my sanity short.
Cal had gotten us VIP tickets a breath away from the stage, but I was relieved to see everyone was standing up, as I intended to do. I peered over my shoulder, thinking they were referring to someone else who hadn’t spent the past couple hours weeping uncontrollably and trying to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.
“I’m talking to you.” One of them covered her mouth, giggling. “Seriously, the dress? The makeup? Vibe unmatched. You look like a movie star.”
A rush of angst decanted into my veins when I thought about the real movie star my so-called boyfriend had been cozying up to last night. My last relationship ended with Tucker running away with the town’s nepo bimbo. It had hurt, but it hadn’t burned. Claire Larsen, though? I couldn’t compete with her.
“Th-thanks.” I shoved a piece of tissue that was falling apart into my nostril, sniffling. I had panda eyes, and I’d missed the two support acts, but I’d showed up. No part of me had wanted to leave the house. Cal had insisted I go alone.
“It’s your dream. You’ve always wanted to see her. No way are you letting a boy ruin this for you. Besides, I don’t want Grav to see you so upset. It’s going to be bad for her psyche.”
It was the last reason that made me evacuate the apartment. I couldn’t stomach the idea of my daughter seeing me ripping at the seams of my own existence over a man, like an injured animal picking at the stitches of a fresh wound. So I ran off, leaving Cal to babysit her. I couldn’t think of anyone I trusted more than my best friend.
I studied the girls in front of me, forcing myself to engage in something that wasn’t my own insecurities. They were all in their early to midtwenties, one blond, one redhead, and one with black hair. They were all stunning and wore cute denim and sequined crop tops, glitter adorning their temples and cheekbones. They kind of looked like cheerleaders.
“No, seriously, your whole vibe is vibing.” The redhead circled my face with her finger.
“Thanks. I’m Dylan.” I stuck out a hand.
“I’m Sadie.” The redhead grabbed it and tugged me into a hug.
“I’m Alix.” The blond pointed at herself.
“And I’m Gia.” The last girl hugged me too. She had an English accent and the impeccable posture of an athlete. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where from.
I unzipped my Ziploc bag, handing Gia a friendship bracelet with the words “Dylan Thomas” on it. “Nice touch, amiright?” I winked, gesturing toward myself.
“The best.”
They gave me bracelets too.
I hurt my back moshing to Taylor Swift.
John Mayonnaise.
I am the exception.
Yes, I thought to myself. I’ve found my people.
Even though it wasn’t the same without Cal, I forced myself into easy conversation with the three friends—all college friends who came together once each summer to do something fun for the weekend, this year a TS concert—and ignored the constant pinging of my phone in my pocket, signaling Rhyland’s text messages from an unknown number begging to be heard.
I was going to hear him eventually, but not soon, and definitely not today. He’d publicly humiliated me by openly flirting with Claire Larsen—what was he thinking, doing that in front of Bruce Marshall?—and he clearly missed his scheduled flight, which means something kept him busy over there.
It was a reminder that men could not be trusted. Even if they gave you butterflies, feathery kisses, and the best orgasms of your lifetime.
For the next three hours, I drowned in the show, screaming the lyrics to “Look What You Made Me Do” and weeping to “cardigan.”
“Is your phone blowing up too?” Gia checked her phone for the millionth time. She, like me, wasn’t entirely focused on the show. She groaned at her screen, shaking her head, one thumb flying over the screen as she typed out a text.
“Everything okay?” Alix put a hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah. Just Tate being…Tate.”
“Ugh.” Sadie made a face. “That’s the worst state for him to be in.”
“I’m quite sure the worst state for him to be in is the one I’m physically in. Unfortunately, we’re both currently in New York. He lent his friend a private jet, because there’s a mini tornado in Texas and loads of flights got canceled. The friend is apparently trashing it because he’s going through some kind of mental breakdown?” Gia’s delicate eyebrows pulled together. “How is that my fault?”
A mini tornado?
Flights canceled?
My blood froze in my veins.
“Your boss is Tate Blackthorn?” I shifted my full attention from Taylor onstage to Gia.