Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Leaves to pee, plot with Wyatt.” I scribble that down. “Right. Got it.”
“Don’t fuck this up.”
“’Kay. I won’t.”
I mean.
I’ll probably fuck it up . . .
Chapter 32
Margot
Dex:
Hey.
Me:
Hey.
Dex:
Oh thank God—I thought for sure there was a chance you’d blocked me.
Me:
That would have been the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? But it seems I’ve made some really bad decisions since meeting you.
Dex:
Ouch. Guess I deserved that.
Me:
Guess you did.
Dex:
K, you don’t have to keep agreeing with me, I already feel like shit.
Me:
Oh! I’m so sorry! I keep forgetting this is about You and your Career and what’s going to make You look like a rockstar.
Dex:
If you heard me sing, you wouldn’t compare me to a rockstar.
Me:
I’m not even remotely amused by you right now.
Dex:
Sorry, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.
Me:
Yes, well. Don’t bother.
Dex:
Margot, I know I fucked up—it’s not the first time, but you’re the last person I want to hurt. Can we get together and talk, please?
Me:
What’s there to talk about, Dex? You made it pretty clear where your priorities lie.
Dex:
I know I messed up. I really do. But I want to explain. Face to face.
Me:
As much as I Love it when you beg, I don’t think there’s anything you can say that will change how I feel right now. The entire situation is so fucked up, pardon my French.
Dex:
You are owed an explanation. I did a shitty job last night—I was caught off-guard and an idiot. Please. One chance to explain myself. If you still feel the same way after, I’ll leave you alone.
Me:
Why should I believe anything you say? How do I know Trent didn’t put you up to this too?
Dex:
My knee-jerk reaction is to say, “Trust me,” but I know you don’t. And that makes me feel like a bag of shit. I wish you’d believe me when I say Trent has nothing to do with me wanting to . . . make this right.
Me:
Make this right. Ahh. Well. If all you’re going to do is apologize, I can save you the trouble and the drive over. I can forget this happened and we can go on with our lives and Pretend this never happened.
Dex:
I see what you did there.
Me:
Thanks, I was laying it on pretty thick. And I love a pun.
Dex:
So you’re teasing me now, does that mean your ice is thawing and you’re willing to hear me out????
Me:
My Ice???
Dex:
You know I don’t have a way with words! Cut me some slack, I’m a football player not a poet. Jeez. I say stupid shit—A LOT of stupid shit
Me:
Okay, you’re right. You don’t have a way with words. I can’t fault you for that.
Dex:
Thanks.
Me:
I’m just not sure seeing you is a good idea.
Dex:
Because I’m your kryptonite and you might accidentally want to make out despite yourself???
Me:
Something like that.
Me:
And stop saying things like that. I’m mad at you.
Dex:
Margot . . .
Me:
And stop saying my name like that.
Dex:
Please talk to me.
Me:
I am talking to you.
Dex:
I need to see you.
Dex:
Pretty please.
“What guy says pretty please anymore?” Cora’s lips are pursed as she sets my phone on the table in the teachers’ lounge, head shaking. “I still cannot believe he’s begging to see you. The audacity of this guy.”
“I know.” I pluck at my ham-and-cheese sandwich, not hungry anymore, picking the crust off. “What should I do?”
Her eyes are wide. “I wish I had better advice for you, but you’re dealing with an entirely different kind of man than I’m used to. I mean, last night Mark and I put an IKEA dresser together while eating a frozen pizza.”
So relatable—unlike Dex and his signing events and huge house and personal chef.
“Okay, pretend he’s normal, though. What would you do if you were in my position?” I can’t tell my mother about this; she would die. She would also tell me to do whatever I had to do to keep him because of all the money he has.
Money, in her eyes, equals stability.
“I don’t know—I run right toward red flags.” She laughs.
“What do you mean?”
Cora shrugs, digging a Cheez-It out of a lunch-size bag of them. “One, when Mark and I started dating, he almost never made plans in advance—and never on the weekends. Two, I didn’t meet his parents until six months in. Three, he called me his ‘friend’ when I met his grandmother, after we’d already been living together for eight months.”
Oh shit. I did not know that about their relationship.
I gulp. “Uh. Okay, wow.”
“You should see your face.” Cora pauses. “My point is, I’m the wrong person to ask.” She eats a cracker and chews, thinking. “You know what you should do, though? Trust your gut. If something feels off, it probably is. And if it feels right—” She shrugs. “You’re the one who has to live with the consequences, and I won’t judge you, whatever you decide.”
My stomach turns. “I just don’t know what my gut is saying.”