Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
My heart is breaking. Not for me, but for everything we almost were. How good it could have been if Jules hadn’t thrown a grenade in the middle of our relationship.
“You don’t know how it feels,” I whisper. “I can’t just get over it.”
“No one’s asking you to. Just to stick up for yourself.”
“And maybe for me, that means waiting for it to blow over and trying to trick myself into forgetting. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like the whole world has seen you naked.”
“You’re right.” He pauses for a beat. “Maybe I should.”
I blink and suddenly Conor is yanking off his shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Empathizing.” He kicks off his shoes.
“Stop it,” I order.
“No.” His socks go next. Then he drops his pants in the middle of my living room and pushes his boxers down his legs.
“Conor, put your fucking pants back on.” And yet my eyes can’t pry themselves from his dick. It’s just so…there.
Without another word, he strides out the front door.
“Get back here, you lunatic.”
When I hear his footsteps on the stairs, I grab his discarded clothing and chase after him. But the jackass is fast. I don’t catch up to him until he’s across the parking lot and standing on the grass that abuts the road.
“Get your phones out, people,” Conor shouts into the air, his muscular arms spread wide. “Don’t see this every day.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind.” I watch him twirling, gorgeous and ridiculous. He has a body you only see in airbrushed fantasies, but it isn’t supposed to be wiggling around on the front lawn. “Oh my God, Conor, stop. Someone’s going to call the cops on you.”
“I’ll plead temporary insanity due to a broken heart,” he says.
Fortunately, this is exclusively a college student-infested street. For at least five blocks in every direction from campus, no townies dare to tread. Families long ago escaped the midweek parties and drunks passed out in the bushes, so that means no traumatized children, either.
Doors start opening up and down the street. Window blinds are separating. He’s got an audience now. Shouts and whistles ring out, an eruption of horny banter.
“Stop encouraging him,” I yell back at the spectators. I refocus my attention on Conor and his amazing, swinging penis and groan in frustration. “Will you please stop!”
“Never. I’ve gone completely mad for you, Taylor Antonia Marsh.”
“That’s not even my middle name!”
“It’s a middle name and I don’t care, if this is what I have to do to take away your embarrassment, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”
“You need to be hospitalized,” I declare, all the while smothering the laughter threatening to spill over.
This man is…ridiculous. I’ve never met anyone like Conor Edwards, this sexy crazy handful who’s flashing the entire neighborhood just to prove a point and make me feel not as alone.
“Edwards!” someone thunders.
A car rolls up, and from the driver’s side window Chad Jensen pokes his head out. “What the hell are you doing running around with no pants on? Put your damn cock away!”
Conor glances over at the car, completely unfazed. “Hey Coach,” he drawls. “What’s up?” When he realizes my mother is in the passenger side, he offers a sheepish smile. “Doctor Mom, good to see you again.”
Unbelievable. I shove Conor’s clothes at him. As he covers his junk, I glance over at my mother and see that her lips are shaking with the effort not to laugh and her eyes are watering. Brenna, on the other hand, is hysterical in the back seat, so loud her laughter is echoing off the buildings.
“Are you quite finished?” I ask this big dumb idiot with a heart of gold.
“Only if you’re ready to go to the police.”
“The police?” My mother leans toward the window, visibly alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
I shoot Conor a glare.
I could lie. Make up some innocuous story my mom wouldn’t buy but might accept as an alternative to the clear indication that I don’t want to discuss it. I could say Conor was just chasing away a creeper who had been hanging around. Fight dick with dick, or whatever. Mom understands boundaries—she trusts my judgment and doesn’t push me to make uncomfortable decisions.
And maybe that’s why I don’t, and never have. Nobody has ever encouraged me to make the hard choices, and I never pushed myself to do it. My whole life I simply retreated into myself, allowed an ever-growing chasm to build between me and anything that could cause me pain. Anything that could reject me.
I created my own safe space and avoided drawing attention to myself. No one can point fingers if they can’t see me. There’s nothing for them to laugh at if I’m not there. I stayed inside my bubble, safe and alone.
No, I don’t especially like my friends and enemies and lovers joining forces to press my hand. It’s not how I operate. And yet…maybe it was exactly what I needed. A good kick in the ass. Not because they’re right or I’m wrong, but because I wasn’t serving myself. I was serving my fears. I’ve been feeding them and allowing them to take up more space inside me until I’m no longer myself and can’t remember a time I was anything else.