Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
But that’s their problem. I refuse to make myself less because others can’t handle me in my natural state.
Hazel grins. “You’re not wrong. But that’s not why every single man in Cold Springs avoids you like the plague.”
“They do not.” My brows furrow. “Do they?”
My friends look at me with pity. “Not completely,” Avery amends, “just for anything romantic.”
“Because of Jesse? Am I a pariah from sleeping with him or something?” A horrible thought occurs to me. “Oh my God, did he give me an STI or something? Do I need to see a doctor?”
Hazel’s bark of laughter is rude when I’m midbreakdown. “Birdie, breathe. It’s nothing like that. Jesse’s just . . . uhm . . .” She side-eyes Avery like she needs help to explain her own brother.
“The lad’s in love with you,” Grandpa Joe says bluntly.
Time stands still, the only movement is my eyelids blinking, and then I burst out laughing. “No he’s not. He’s . . . Jesse . . . casual, carefree, no-strings-attached Jesse.” They stare at me blankly, so I keep going. “He won’t even go out in public with me without all of you going along too. Because I’m diluted a bit that way, not such a strong dose.”
Somewhere along the way, my laughter at Grandpa Joe’s outrageous claim turns to an ache in my chest. The spot where a little bit of hope used to reside.
The fling Jesse and I had was ongoing for a while, long enough that I truly thought it had developed into something deeper. But that was my mistake. I was the one who fell for Jesse, he was the one who would ditch me to go out with the guys. I put up with it longer than I should’ve, but eventually, I had to give myself an ultimatum. To save myself. One last try, one last invitation to go to dinner after so many before, and as simple as that request was, he still ran.
Even then, I’m ashamed to say, it wasn’t enough to destroy that hope. I didn’t go home. I went to Puss N Boots. I’d needed to see with my own eyes . . .
“This is stupid and you know it,” I tell myself. But I don’t restart the car. I have to do this or I’ll never let it go. “Fuck it.”
I get out of my car, scanning the parking lot as I walk to the door of Puss N Boots. But the audience for my humiliation isn’t out here, they’re inside. I open the door and step into the busyness of a Friday night.
I make my way to the bar as quickly as possible, using my small height to stay invisible in the crowd of people. I find a line of sight to the pool tables, and my eyes are drawn to him. Jesse’s reigning over the table like the king he is. His dark hair is mussed, his smile is surrounded by scruff, and his eyes are bright as he talks and jokes with the guys from work. At least he told the truth about that.
But they’re not the only ones Jesse’s playing with. There’s a group of women playing at the next table, but also watching Jesse with sly grins. One of them approaches him, and I hold my breath, hoping he tells her to fuck off. Hoping he tells her he’s taken.
That’s not what happens.
She leans in to him, flirting. I don’t need to hear her to know that. I can tell by her mannerisms—her smile, the way she’s messing with her dark hair, how she looks at him. The next thing I know, Jesse is stepping over to the table with her and then, standing behind her, with her hips pressed back against his, he helps her line up a shot. A few strokes and the balls fly across the table and into a pocket.
She jumps happily, her squeal of delight audible even from here, and Jesse . . . smiles. She hugs him in her excitement, and he says something, but I’m too far away to hear and can’t read his lips because they’re buried in her hair. But I can read his intentions because I’ve been that girl—pressed to Jesse, him whispering in my ear, and breathing me in.
I escape to the bathroom, not wanting anyone to see the tears I’m barely holding back. In the stall, I wipe my eyes and blow my nose, scolding myself for my own stupidity for falling for him. I’m about to step out when the bathroom door opens and voices echo around me.
“He is so hot, Raelynn. You’re such a lucky bitch,” one voice says.
“I know! And you should hear his voice—all rough and sexy. ‘Good shot, baby.’ Uhh, I almost came right then and there.”
That moment is when any last hope I harbored died a painful, quick death. He called her “baby.” And with two syllables, I shut down completely.