Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Chapter 3
People who dry swallow pills scare me.
-Reagan’s secret thoughts
Reagan
“I’m not falling for that again,” I told Kayla, who’d been the one to ask me if I wanted to go out for dinner. “Last time y’all sprung that entire freakin’ party—dinner—whatever on me. I don’t like crowds and y’all know that. You’re lucky I stayed as long as I did.”
Janie, who was working on her computer next to me, snorted.
I looked over at her with a glare to see her daughter soundly asleep on her chest while Janie typed away on her computer.
“What?” I asked.
“Your vagina’s skills are going to disappear if you don’t use it,” Janie offered, not taking her eyes off the computer screen.
“Fuck you,” I said. “And my vagina’s never had the chance to learn ‘skills’ as you say. It’s only been used once and whatever it learned that day was not to a skill worth developing.”
Kayla snickered. “I’m so glad that you left that weirdo.”
I was, too.
Though, at the time I hadn’t realized he was a weirdo.
When I met my now ex-boyfriend, I was thinking, holy shit! Someone likes me! Someone who knows what it’s like to not want to talk to anyone while still wanting someone around, you know, in case you needed them, or they needed you. But, as it turned out, I didn’t actually know Dusty as well as I thought I did.
When I tried to pursue my dreams, instead of supporting me in chasing them, he ruined my chance of ever going for them because I didn’t choose him.
Although, he claimed the accident was just that—an accident.
I knew better.
I’d seen his eyes right before the crash. I saw the way he’d narrowed them and tightened his hands on the steering wheel before he’d supposedly lost control.
I wasn’t stupid.
But it was kind of up for deliberation.
If I’d been smarter, I would’ve told everyone my suspicions.
Instead, everyone just thought we grew apart.
We hadn’t.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, so I broke up with him hours after our accident.
He’d been determined and hung around for a lot longer than I wanted him to, but eventually he got the message.
Kind of.
He might’ve gone away, but it was never for long.
He’d become slightly obsessed with me and turned into a stalker.
Luckily, I was now an hour away from him in a town that was just a tad too country for him to survive in—at least happily.
Dusty, despite his country name, was a city boy. He hated the rural towns and couldn’t stand there not being a Starbucks a few blocks away at all times.
He may be scholarly, so smart it wasn’t even funny, but he was also a stuck-up snob who refused to lower his standards by going to a town like Hostel.
I tried to get him to visit the antique stores in the smaller towns around Kilgore and the moment we parked, his expression took on the permanent lip curl that was a sure sign of his disgust until we left.
“God, I saw him the other day when I went home. He looked almost good. He’s grown out a beard and he looks so much less nerdy than what he used to,” Janie said, interrupting my thoughts.
“You can grow a beard, but that doesn’t magically grow you a set of balls,” I pointed out. “I’m sure he still wears perfectly starched blue jeans and wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of work boots.”
Nope, not Dusty. He was allergic to work—at least the physical variety that required him getting his hands dirty.
He was perfectly fine with going to the gym—one that barely anyone could afford because they charged its members an arm and a leg—but going outside and getting those hands involved in a little manual labor? Yeah, that was a big fat no.
Just another reason I’d started hating him toward the end of our relationship.
Though softball was a big part of my life, so were plants. I’ve had a love for them since I was old enough to help my Dad pick the garden plantings and landscaping foliage. From there, that love had turned into an inquisitiveness that had led me down the path of choosing botany as my career.
The fastest way to get Dusty upset was to show up for a date with dirt under my fingernails—which happened a lot. I loved to plant, garden, and grow all things. It wasn’t unheard of for me to lose myself for hours outside just working in the garden or my flower beds.
Therefore, showing up late for a date with dirt under my fingernails…yeah, that was a big no-no for him.
Apparently, it’d been a huge deal to Dusty…and one of the biggest fights we had was over my inability to clean myself properly for dates.
“Such a douche,” Janie confirmed. “I’m so glad that you got rid of him.”