Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Same page. Same fucking page, Charisma.” And then he’s walking away, broad shoulders swaying as he stalks down the aisle, straight to where Dani is—staring at the lipstick counter. All hail the beauty queen.
Seriously, she was crowned Miss Waylon her sophomore year.
She looks past him and sees me. With a frown, she checks me out, from the top of my ponytail to my red shoes. I know what she sees—a blob in a sweatshirt with no makeup—and obviously, I’m not her competition, but I guarantee she knows I slept with him. She knew at Cadillac’s. Not much gets past those pesky, pretty Thetas.
His back is ramrod straight, his fists balled up at his sides as he walks past her.
She tosses back her mane of blonde hair and looks over her shoulder at me with a triumphant smirk as she trots after him.
He’s mine, her gaze says.
You can have him! mine shouts back.
I can’t breathe watching his frame fade away from me as they exit and head out into the student center. There he goes. With her. I lean over and hang on to a nearby shelf, shoulders heavy, emotion building inside me as I replay the night we broke up.
He said I had rules, but he never asked for more.
He pushed me away and stalked out of that party and out of my life.
Memories wash over me, the ones of him pacing on the side of the dance floor, hands twitching at his sides, his face pale as he watched me dance with my sorority sisters, a look of dread on his face. Later, I chalked it up to pre-breaking-up-with-Charisma nerves. He knew he was going to dump me when he walked in that party.
And what did I do after he left? I ended up in the dark basement of our sorority house, huddled in a corner alone as the party went on upstairs, my arms wrapped around a body that didn’t fit the mold of his perfect type. Blindsided, I cried my eyes out. I fucking cried because he fooled me so, so good. Because underneath, I thought, I thought he was on the same wavelength I was. Wrong.
But why is he so…angry with me? What have I done? I let him go. He asked for it, he got it.
A student walks past me and then looks back at me, giving me a lingering glance, and I straighten, realizing I’m still hunkered over on the shelf.
God, dig up some backbone, Charm. The Blaze era is over. Stop wallowing in this misery and move the F on.
I pull out the phone number Dr. A gave me and fire off a text to Med School Mike. Might as well get back in the saddle.
7
It’s past five on a Friday, and I’m leaving the gym when my phone rings. Aunt Lorraine. I grapple with my bag to hit the answer button before it goes to voice mail. I called last night but she didn’t pick up. Uncle Jack never does, so I didn’t even try him.
“Hey, Aunt Lorraine, what’s up? Guess you saw I called?”
“Yeah. How are things going?” Her voice is distracted, and I hear the girls in the background. I picture them in their house with the huge cotton field behind it. Over fifty years old, it’s a ranch-style brick her parents left her along with a small farm. She lost them at nineteen, married Jack at twenty, and started having babies at twenty-one. Then I came along.
“About this dinner thing…” Her voice trails off as one of the girls starts whining, and I can tell by the rustling that she’s covering the phone and telling someone to be quiet—Suzie, the youngest, I bet. Last time I was there was Christmas Day, and she’d grown nearly a foot since the summer.
Her voice is back, a hint of exasperation there. “Sorry. Kid drama. Suzie and Carrie don’t want to clean their room.”
“Ah. Well, give my sister-cousins a hug from me, will you?”
“Sure.” She pauses.
I tense up, waiting for her to speak. I really want them to make the awards dinner for the national championship, and it’s just…stupid.
“Look, Blaze, I’m sorry we didn’t make the game, but I’m sure you understand. It was in Miami, and we couldn’t really afford to fly down, plus with the girls…”
I stop at my truck, an older model black Chevy, and lean against it. We had this conversation after we won, but I let her go on, knowing she’s building up.
“I get it. Work and the girls…it’s hard to get away.”
“Exactly.”
“The awards dinner is here in Magnolia,” I say. A three-hour drive, no plane necessary.
She sighs. “Ellen has a play that same night. It’s a big deal now that she’s in high school and convinced she wants to be an actress. Gah, fifteen and killing me with the boys.”