Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
"Clearly. The stuff is terrible."
"Are you hungover?"
"A little." I scowl as Zoya goes sailing past my bedroom, already fully dressed and far too chipper. "Apparently, she's not. She's already up and dressed."
Mom laughs again. "You two are having fun then?"
"Yeah." I roll out of bed, stumbling a little as my head throbs. Crap. It's going to be a long day. "I'm really glad she's here."
"I wish we were there too. We miss you, sweetheart."
My heart pulses, my throat closing up. "I miss you too, Mom. So freaking much."
"Are you doing okay?"
No. Not after last night.
"I saw him last night," I whisper, clutching the phone tight. "Teo."
"Oh," my mom whispers softly. "Did you run into him?"
"No. Um, he came to my show."
"Oh." I hear the surprise in her voice.
I barely slept last night because of him. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the way his lips felt against mine. It felt like I was seventeen again, being kissed by him for the first time. Only, there was a whole lot more raw hunger to this kiss than there was back then, as if we've both been starving for another taste all these years.
He was my whole world for seventeen years. I waited for that kiss back then for so damn long. For about five minutes, it was perfect. And then the whole thing fell apart. I didn't need a reminder of how much I miss him, of how I've never gotten over him. And that's exactly what this kiss did. I've been starving for him for six years.
And I'm mad as hell that he kissed me and brought that hunger into screaming focus all over again. I'm mad as hell at myself for kissing him back. Mostly, I'm mad as hell that I let him hurt me again. If he doesn't want to be seen in pictures with me, he should stay away. Then his little groupies will never have to know that I even exist. Problem freaking solved.
I hate the jealousy burning in my chest at the thought of him with football groupies. He can sleep with whoever he wants. He isn't mine anymore.
So…why do I still feel like his? Why have I always felt that way?
It's infuriating!
My soul is tied to his in ways I don't think can be undone. And that pisses me off too. No one told me that giving my heart to him as a kid meant I could never take it back again. It's been his every damn day of my life. But his was never really mine. Football always mattered more.
Now, I guess the random women he sleeps with do too.
And yet, the thing that kept me up all night wasn't that. It was what he said about the accident and the unmistakable guilt in his voice when he said it.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask my mom.
"Of course you can, sweetheart."
"Does he blame himself for what happened?" I bite my lip, worrying it. "He said something last night…" I sigh. "I think he blames himself for the accident."
"I don't know, sweet girl. Maybe. Miranda says he never talked about it. Like you, he refused to let anyone," she says gently. "I imagine he probably does feel strongly about it. But whether or not that's guilt, I can't say. Maybe you should ask him."
"Yeah," I whisper, my stomach trembling at the thought. "Maybe."
"How did that one sound?" I ask Zoya, stepping out of the studio into the production booth where she's leaning against the wall behind my producer, Brogan.
"Perfect." She shoots me a thumbs up, grinning at me. "Can't even tell you've been in there for the last three hours, driving everyone nuts."
I stick my tongue out at her, which makes her laugh. She isn't wrong, though. I have been driving everyone nuts. I'm a perfectionist…and this session has been far from perfect. The notes just aren't landing right. Probably because my mind isn't on the music this morning.
I'm still partially hungover, still thinking about Teo.
Every time I think I've exorcised him from my mind, he pops right back up, haunting me. I can't get the sound of his voice out of my head. Or the look on his face. I can't get the taste of his kiss or the feel of his hands out, either. One kiss, one night, unraveled six years of work. Or maybe it just brought into screaming focus how little progress I've made in six years.
"Let me mix it with the track the band laid down yesterday, and then I'll play it back," Brogan says, momentarily distracting me from my dark thoughts. "Give me five minutes."
"Thanks," I murmur, tying my hair up in a messy bun. "I'm going to step out and get some air." I'm halfway through the door before I even finish speaking. The walls feel like they're closing in on me. It's been a long time since I felt that way.