Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
This isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it’s not the best either.
“I’m scared to call him,” I admit, my voice low. “I was scared the whole time I was talking to him.”
“Scared?”
“Of telling him how I feel.” I laugh bitterly. “I genuinely thought I was going to, earlier, as it would just come out. But that’s not all. I can’t see more of him if he keeps seeing those women. All the time. Getting photographed with that haunting look on his face. It’s like he’s thinking about the crash.”
Jane walks up beside me, laying her hand on my arm. “You know, he might be interested, Lucy.”
“Don’t say that.” I shake my head. “We both know there’s almost zero chance of that. You’ve seen the women he spends his time with.”
“Yeah,” Jane says. “I have.”
“They even give you competition, and that’s saying a lot.”
She jabs me playfully. “I think you should call him anyway. Even if he doesn’t feel the same, it’s still a good way to keep your mind fresh before starting college again.”
“What if I want to lie down and forget about everything instead?”
Jane grins. “I’m pretty sure everybody wants that from time to time. But it’s no way to live your life, Luce.”
“Luce. Dad used to call me that.”
“I know. I remember.”
I nod at Jane, taking a breath. “I’m going to call him. Tomorrow. I don’t want to bother him this late.”
From the way Jane’s looking at me, I can tell she knows that’s just an excuse, a way to delay the conversation.
And, maybe, a way to force down some of these feelings, to put them into boxes in my mind, so they can’t keep warping my thoughts into impossible shapes.
Three days of thinking about calling him, wondering what we’ll talk about, imagining all kinds of steamy and romantic scenarios…and then backing out at the last second.
I sit on the computer chair still in my work clothes and stare down at the phone and tell myself this is the moment.
I’ve told myself the same thing several times, but I’ve accepted something this time. Or at least I’m trying to.
He’s never going to feel the same as me. This is just a crush. I can be his friend without needing to be anything more.
Two of those statements are true, and it’s not the first one.
I sigh, probably for the fiftieth time this evening.
Outside, a light rain taps against the window.
“What are you huffing and puffing about?” Jane calls from the living room.
I can’t help but laugh at her comment. It comes out of nowhere, with that perfect timing and delivery Jane just nails from time to time. And all the funnier because she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
“What?” she says, sticking her head into the doorway.
“I can’t believe you heard me,” I reply.
“You were about to blow the house down. What’s wrong?” Her gaze flits to the phone in my hand. “Is tonight the night?”
“I’m thinking about it,” I murmur. “It’s silly. He probably won’t even answer. He probably forgot he gave me his number the second he did it. He’s probably going to be angry I called. He didn’t mean to give me his personal number. He probably wanted to give me his professional one, but they got mixed up.”
“Lucy.” Jane leans down, catching my eye line. “I think you need to call him, just so you know where you stand. You’re driving yourself insane. Don’t think I haven’t heard you stomping around the last three nights.”
I smile, so thankful I’ve got a friend like Jane, one who will always go the extra mile.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so restless.” It takes me a moment to find the word. “I want to get better.”
“You are getting better,” Jane says. “Remember when we first moved here? All you did was lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.”
“I know. I guess I wasn’t the best at handling grief. I blame Mom.”
Jane frowns, and right away, I regret the dark joke.
She knows what I mean without saying it. If Mom had died later and not when I was born, I’d be used to grief by now.
“I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly.
“I know you didn’t,” Jane says. “What are you going to do?”
I look down at the phone, take a long breath, and let it out again.
“I’m going to do it. Call him.”
It takes a lot of effort to actually do it, though.
I hold my thumb there for a long time, going through all the horrible possibilities, and then Jane waves her hands.
“Oh my God, I’m dying from the tension!”
“Me too,” I say, clicking call.
I hold the phone to my ear. The ringing stops. There’s a pause.
“Hello?” a woman says.
I gasp when I recognize her voice.
“What?” A woman hisses.
Putting the phone on speaker, I hold it out, even as tears try to flood into my eyes. I want to hang up, forget this even happened.