Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Would I joke about something like this?
YES. YOU WOULD.
No I wouldn’t, but go on…
What’s he like????
He’s an asshole.
Obviously.
What kind of an asshole?
The usual kind?
You’re going to have to be more specific…
I would be if I knew what the heck you were talking about. How many kinds of assholes are there? Explain
The COCKY asshole, the LYING asshole, the SHADY asshole, the NARCISSIST asshole…need I go on???
I get the picture LOL
So which one was he? I picture him as the cocky type, probably doesn’t give a shit? Sort of smooth and suave so he can get into your pants.
I mean, it was freezing out so I couldn’t say if he was smooth or suave and wanted to get into my pants since I could barely tell what he looked like.
And how did YOU know what he looks like??
No idea. I mean, I’ve only seen pictures of him. Oh wait. Once I saw him out at the bars, but that was like, last year—but when you know, you know.
*roll eyes emoji*
Don’t roll your eyes at me.
Can’t help it. You might be dating Rookie, but you have boys on the brain.
Yeah yeah—back to Dallas Colter. Was he tall?
I guess so? I didn’t notice.
Okay if you can’t give me more information you’re fired.
First of all, how did this conversation about ME BEING DUMPED BY DIEGO turn into a conversation about how tall Dallas Colter is???
Because you didn’t actually give a shit about Diego Lorenz, let’s be honest. But I care about how tall Dallas is.
And I’m telling you it was hard to tell how tall he was. A, I wasn’t standing next to him, and B, when he drove me home, he was sitting the entire time.
BACK. THE. TRUCK. UP. He drove you home???? Ryann Ariel Marie Shauna Winterbottom WHY ARE YOU JUST TELLING ME THIS NOW?
Winterbottom?
Don’t change the subject. HE DROVE YOU HOME?
Omg Winnie, why are you fixated on this?!
Because I am. Because it’s Dallas Colter. Rumor has it he doesn’t date and he barely parties. So not only was it a RARE sighting, but he offered you a ride home. In his sex wagon.
Sex wagon? Could you not…
You just said he doesn’t date.
Sex and dating are two different things. As you are very well aware.
Gee, thanks.
No offense.
None taken.
I set my phone on the bedside table and head to my small bathroom to wash my face and remove my makeup. I don’t typically wear much to work, but I have mascara on and feel so…
Drained.
Defeated somehow, so much on my mind.
Once all that is accomplished and my pajamas are on, I settle into bed so I can stare aimlessly up at the ceiling. Replay some conversation with Diego in my mind, namely the one we had the last time we were physically together.
We were at a house party, not a big one, but a house party all the same, somewhere off campus with his buddies and their girlfriends/dates sitting around drinking bottled beer, watching a professional football game.
I kept waiting for Diego to put his hand on my knee, the same way everyone else in the room was doing with their date.
He didn’t touch me.
And on the way home when he walked me to my door and I tried to invite him in, he stretched and yawned so big I blushed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? We can keep talking.” Keep talking? We’d barely said ten words to one another the entire night. What I meant was, ‘So we can finally have one-on-one time.’
“Ugh, babe, I’m so tired, and we gotta be up early tomorrow for drills.”
That was a given. I wasn’t naïve about the fact that he worked out and practiced a lot, but there was no reason he couldn’t come in and possibly spend the night.
“Gracias por entender.” His fingers brushed my hair back behind my ears and he leaned forward to lightly press his lips to my forehead.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, thanks for understanding.”
But I didn’t understand.
I wanted the guy I was seeing to come inside my apartment and touch me. Talk to me. Maybe dry hump me. I don’t know. I was attracted to him—he’s a good-looking guy. Sweet. Kind. Patient.
What was so wrong with me that he didn’t want to get to know me more?
We had no chemistry. This I knew. That fact I understood.
Still, it didn’t stop me from trying.
I wasn’t a quitter, and my parents always told me you have to put work into a relationship to make it work.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I believe love grows over time. Does that make me a cynic? Or does it make me realistic?
Rolling over, my eyelids finally grow heavy, the urge to send a message to Diego creeping to the very back of my mind to settle there. If he wants to get ahold of me, fine, but I’m not going to pursue what I was grasping at for two months.