Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Can I turn down Coldplay for a second?” I don’t wait for him to turn it off. I’m not a big fan of Coldplay or background noise and his singing might have scarred me for life.
“Um, dude… this is my car. But for you”—he reaches over and puts his large hand on my leg—“you can do whatever you like.” I look down at his hand and almost say, “Don’t call me dude,” but whatever. I cross my leg, causing his hand to slide off awkwardly.
Then I clear my throat. “I’ve decided to go to Homecoming with you, and I broke up with Edge.” My voice cracks and I bite my bottom lip.
“Fuck yes.” He pounds the top of the car. “It’s about time, Doll. Do you need money for a dress? I’m wearing white and red.”
I’m about to scream, If you call me dude or Doll one more time I won’t be held responsible for my actions. Instead, I take a breath and look down at my nails, which I painted lavender this morning after I scrubbed all of Crystal’s blood from underneath them.
I’m too tired to care that he insulted me by saying I’m poor. I’m more aggravated that he took my gum and calls me Doll, which reminds me of Edge, than him telling me to get a dress that matches his outfit and he’ll pay for it.
I give him a fake smile and say, “I’m fine. Thanks for telling me your colors.” He swerves into the school parking lot.
“No problem.”
This time, I’m quicker than he is and I bolt from the car, taking a huge drag of fresh air.
“I’ll walk you to your locker,” he grumbles.
“Um well… I have to meet Morgan. I’ll see you in History.” I feel like a racehorse at the gate waiting for it to open so I can bolt.
He cocks his head. “Do I scare you?”
“No.” What a weird thing to say. This guy is an idiot. But if Edge can fuck around, then I guess I need to make sure he sees that I’m great without him. And unfortunately for me, Troy is the easiest way to hurt him.
I flip my hair over my shoulder and walk toward my locker. I don’t look back because I can sense him staring at me. Turning the corner, I move around the flood of feet and chatter in the hallway. Hopefully I can get to my locker and not have to talk to anyone.
I feel him before I see him and my heart starts racing. As I move closer, it’s all I can do not to throw myself into his arms and beg him to tell me it was all a bad dream. His dark auburn hair is perfect in an I-don’t-give-a-shit way. And oh God, he smells like clean, fresh, spicy cinnamon. My eyes are killing me and I wish I could close them, cuddle in his arms, and simply smell him. Maybe then Troy’s massive amount of cologne would not still haunt me.
Edge leans on the end of the lockers with his arms crossed, his biceps on show. Tattoos cover his right arm and a few on his left. Without a doubt, he’s the most beautiful guy, and I won’t ever get over him.
“We need to talk,” he growls, reaching for my arm.
I look down at his strong, tan hand, which screams security, and wonder if I’m losing it because I almost said okay.
“Please, don’t make a scene. I don’t want to tell my dad or Prez but I will,” I mumble as I concentrate on making my shaky hands work to open my locker.
“I’m sorry.” It’s barely vocal with all the noises around us, but I heard it and I reach up to steady myself.
“Why?” My raspy voice gives me away. It’s hard to swallow from choking back the tears.
“She meant nothing.”
I look up at him and take in his beautiful turquoise eyes. They’re filled with remorse and I close mine against the power he has over me.
“Just why?” I stomp my foot. “You couldn’t wait? You always say I’m a follower, but look at you,” I spit with venom.
He cocks his head. His eyes caress my face, almost as if we’re the only two people in the world, yet those eyes tell me he loves me and do nothing but lie.
I jump when the bell rings, a loud reminder that no matter what he says, it can never erase what I saw.
“If you thought that saying you’re sorry”—I grab my books and shove them into my backpack—“can make me forgive you or forget…” My voice cracks and I look up at the ceiling to stop the tears.
I hold up my hands, my backpack dropping to the floor with a loud thud. “Edge, please. I have to go to class. I can’t do this.”