Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Do you? Or are you just hiding behind them because it’s easier than facing the possibility of getting hurt again?”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. I don’t know how to answer that. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe I have been using this situation as a way to protect myself, to keep from fully opening up, from risking everything.
“Beckett,” Dad says, his tone gentle now, “I get it. I do. After what happened with Shannon, I understand why you’d be scared to let someone in. But this isn’t the answer. You can’t…share a girlfriend. You’re only hurting yourself more in the long run.”
I stare straight ahead. I don’t want to admit that he might be right. I don’t want to face the possibility that I’m sabotaging something out of fear.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“It’s okay not to know. But don’t settle for something just because it feels safe.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHARLOTTE
The supreme slut of the galaxy
BY MIDWEEK, I’VE BASICALLY MOVED INTO THE ENGINEERING LAB AND am considering purchasing a sleeping bag and hot plate. The prototype for my blood pressure device is fucking beautiful, though. Works like a dream. Even my advisor was impressed when she stopped by earlier to check in on me.
With spring break quickly approaching, I want to make some real progress on my capstone so I can actually—gasp—relax. Harrison texted last night, offering to fly out for a visit during break because I couldn’t make a trip out west happen, and I’d like to see him. It’s his birthday that weekend too, so it would be nice to spend it with him, especially now that he seems to have lost some of the chip on his shoulder. Our last few text exchanges have been great. Not a single jab or veiled remark about my family, and he hasn’t asked whether I’ve told them about him.
Which I still haven’t done. I think even Ava has given up on it. And to be honest, I’m both shocked and grateful that she’s managed to keep it to herself. I assumed she would’ve blabbed to our parents ages ago, but she’s respecting my wishes of wanting to tell them myself.
Which I’ll do.
Eventually.
It’s past ten o’clock when I leave the lab. There are a few messages in our group chat and one of Beckett’s signature notes in my purse, which I discover when I’m pulling out my phone.
No more all-nighters at the lab.
Please, baby. I miss your pussy so bad.
I bite my lip and smile. Boyfriend #2 has a way with words. I’m sort of obsessed with his notes. I have no clue how he manages to slip them in my bag without me noticing, but every few days, usually after I’ve spent the night at the boys’ house, I’ll find a new note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting.
In the group chat, the messages come from Will.
WILL:
How’s the project going?
Come over after if it’s not too late.
I check the time and decide it is indeed too late. I have an early class tomorrow, so I type a quick response telling them I’ll see them tomorrow night, then drive home to Greek Row.
Agatha is entering the foyer from the corridor at the same time as I walk through the front door. Her expression grows pinched at the sight of me, and she greets me with a tight nod. She’s been extra cool to me since the Presidents’ Gala. She claims she doesn’t believe my ex’s allegations that I’m the supreme slut of the galaxy, but I can tell she’s suspicious of me.
Faith pokes her head out of her room when I reach the second-floor hallway. “Hey, babe. You’re back so late.”
“I live at the lab now,” I say glumly.
“Make any progress at least?”
“Thankfully, yes.”
She follows me into my room, flopping on the mattress and watching me deposit my laptop bag and purse on the desk.
“You look stressed,” she remarks in amusement.
“I am stressed. Ugh. I sort of regret not going to the guys’ house tonight for some stress-busting sex, but I have to wake up so early tomorrow—” I stop when I notice her expression.
Bewilderment and deep, deep suspicion.
“What?” I ask warily.
“You just said the guys’ house? Like, plural guys.”
A queasy sensation tickles my stomach. “I mean Will’s house. He has a roommate, so I guess the plural just made sense in my head.”
Faith’s gaze pierces into me. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I insist.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
She hops to her feet, crossing her arms over the front of the oversize Patriots tee she likes to sleep in. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“We’ve been sharing a house for almost four years now, Charlotte Kingston. Do you think I’m a fool? A foolish fool who can’t tell when my best friend is being a filthy liar?”