Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Part of me considers just turning around and leaving. I can always come back later, but once Monday arrives, I tend to be overwhelmed with classes and my job at the library.
Don’t let her get the best of you, Delaney.
With my head down, reading the grocery list on my phone, I fortify myself with a mental pep talk and walk through the sliding glass doors.
Don’t make eye contact, I tell myself, but before I realize it, I’m glaring right at her. She looks up, catches my eye, and sends me a sly smile, lashes batting.
Our dislike of each other is palpable and always has been. Skye claims she’s intimidated and threatened by me because somehow I managed to land a football player as a boyfriend freshman year, and all she got was an STD.
She’s wearing her usual, something ridiculous and ill-suited for the cold weather: tall Uggs and a pair of denim shorts lined with lace. Of course, her face is expertly made up, all the way down to the arched eyebrows she probably watched some two-hour YouTube video on how to make.
She finishes checking out and pushes her cart straight over to me, her pert little nose practically twitching with excitement. “Well, well, if it isn’t Delaney Shaw.” Her gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my baggy Waylon hoodie. “Here to raid the ice cream freezer? Just be careful you don’t eat the whole gallon.”
I stiffen. As a matter of fact, I do have chocolate ice cream on my list, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I tell her that.
“Don’t let me keep you from your Mensa meeting,” I say before moving to walk around her.
I’ve gotten a few feet away when she calls out after me, almost tauntingly. “I can’t believe you’re being so rude, especially since I haven’t seen you in weeks.” I cringe, knowing she’s referring to the night I caught her with Alex.
I turn back around, knowing I shouldn’t, but I just can’t stop myself.
She puts a hand on her hip. “Look, you don’t have to be so upset about Alex. He’s an athlete. They screw around—it’s what they do.”
My stomach churns at the imagery her words bring up, and I feel the blood draining from my face.
Her friend tugs on Martha-Muffin’s arm, ushering her out the door, and I stand here for a full five seconds just breathing, trying to get myself under control.
I make my way over to the produce aisle and walk around, not really seeing anything, my heart heavy as I think about Alex and everything we lost.
On an impulse, I pull my phone out of my bag and send a text to my mystery man.
Paging He-Man. I miss you. Where are you? Not that you care, but I’m staring at cherries at the Piggly Wiggly and thinking of you. It’s been a shit day. Shit week. Shit month. Just ran into the girl my ex cheated on me with. Need to vent. Need a cigarette…or I would if I smoked.
He replies immediately, and I want to shout with glee. Awkward. Want me to kick her ass?
Yes.
Done. I’ll be there in five.
A laugh comes out of me, and for some reason, seeing Martha-Muffin doesn’t have nearly the punch it did a minute ago.
No! I’m just kidding. Plus, she’s gone already. Hey, can I ask you a personal question?
Shoot, he replies.
Do YOU sleep with those groupies who hang all over athletes? You know the ones—they’ve had more loads than a washing machine but they’re hot so all the guys want a spin?
Uh…how many loads are we talking?
Of course he sleeps with them. He calls himself “Badass Athlete”, and what red-blooded male is going to turn down what’s offered?
He-Man, you’re disappointing me.
Truth: I haven’t been with a girl in months. I’m turning them down left and right.
You’re so full of yourself.
True, he says. But I am the best.
Best at what? Football? Volleyball? Baseball?
Why are you turning them down? I ask.
I’ve been waiting on you.
WHAT?
Is he kidding? Is it the truth? He never replies, even after I linger around the produce, waiting to see those three little dots that mean he’s responding.
They never appear, and once again I’m overcome with embarrassment at my neediness and lack of male attention. Screw it. I stick my phone in my purse and head to the magazine section to pick out a new Cosmo. I move on from there and hit up the meat department. Several minutes later, I’m lifting a large container of ground beef into my cart when I hear a deep male voice behind me.
“Didn’t know you liked that much meat, Delaney.”
I stop in my tracks.
I turn to see Maverick standing behind me, wearing low-slung jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a grin. We’ve been sitting together all week in class, and it’s been pure torture. We make small talk about the weather and football, but underneath is a current of electricity that I do my best to ignore. Maybe he’s ignoring it too.