Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“You know you have to let me grow up one day, right?”
My brother grins. “But not today.”
“Whatever.”
“Catch ya later,” he says and as soon as he’s gone, I race back to my room to set up my greenhouse.
Once I have it up and running and every plant placed just so, I snap a few pictures for Instagram.
And maybe one for Samson. He did say I could send him a pic once it was complete, right? So, it’s not like I’ll look crazy.
I take a deep breath, attach it to a text and send it before I can chicken out.
Not even a minute later, he replies.
Samson: Was starting to think you forgot about me.
I snort to myself. If only. But forgetting him is like holding your breath—you’re fine for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, but before you know, you’re gasping for air, sucking it down by the lungful.
I guess because for so long, he was my air. My light. My whole freaking world. I want so badly to remain hard—to stand my ground and not let him back in.
He deserves it, but damn if I don’t feel myself softening, even if I don’t actually want to.
Me: Nope, just been busy. It looks good, right?
Samson: Bet it’s even better in person.
I bite my lip, wondering if I’m reading too much into his text.
Me: It totally is…
Me: You could come see it… if you want.
Regret instantly presses down on my chest. I can’t believe I just invited him over, especially when I’m not even sure if I’ve forgiven him.
I know he thinks—or thought, I guess—that he was doing the right thing, but at the same time, I’m not sure how to move past him leaving me.
Or if I ever will, and stringing him along will only end in heartache for the both of us.
When minutes pass and he doesn’t reply, I know I read too far into his text.
I feel foolish. Like a stupid lovesick girl chasing after the cool older guy who thinks she’s cute. Maybe he left because he finally realized he wanted someone more mature. Someone his own age.
Maybe he doesn’t regret it at all.
Maybe all of his apologies are empty, meaningless words because he doesn’t want things to be weird between us for Orion’s sake.
But that kiss at the lake, my subconscious unhelpfully adds. But people can kiss without commitment. It’s probably just another thing I read too far into.
Or maybe he’s just busy and I’m overreacting?
All I know is I put myself out there and have nothing other than red-hot embarrassment to show for it.
“Don’t let him ruin today.” I press my thumbs to my eyes, physically holding back my tears. “Don’t cry over him. He’s not worth it.”
I take a calming breath and count back from ten in my head before tossing my phone down onto my bed. I have time to kill and a dorm building to explore.
I feel calmer after checking the entire building. I’m still mad at him—and at myself for jumping the gun—but I don’t want to cry into my pillow anymore. I meant it when I said he wasn’t worth my tears. No man is and until he can show me that he’s serious about us, he can fuck right off.
Outside of my suite, I hesitate, wondering if I should knock. I don’t want to be rude, but it’s my place too…
I unlock the door and swing it open. Sure enough, there’s a beautiful brunette standing in the bedroom to the right. “You must be Emmalyn.”
She freezes before slowly looking my way. She’s taller than I am, most people are, but it’s her eyes that really stand out. They have this haunted look in them that makes my heart thump a little harder in my chest.
“Um. Em-Emmy is fine,” she mumbles, not quite making eye contact.
I smile my brightest smile. “Nice to meet you, Emmy. I’m Stella.”
She fidgets with the hem of her sweatshirt. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
Her shoulders curl in as I appraise her, like she’s trying to make herself less noticeable, which is an impossible feat, because the girl is gorgeous.
She doesn’t seem pretentious like a lot of the girls I went to high school with. If anything, she seems shy—painfully so.
Something tells me we’re going to be good friends.
“Sweet. Do you need any help bringing the rest of your stuff up?”
She lowers her gaze and swallows. “Um, no. I… this is pretty much it.”
I glance down at the two bags at her feet. Maybe she put her stuff up already? Or maybe she’s a minimalist. Either way, it’s not my place to judge her.
“Well, what are you doing then?”
“The tech center,” she blurts out, her cheeks burning bright. “I need to, uh, go there and get my student ID card.”
“Perfect. Me too. Let’s go!” I grab her wrist and pull her up from her bed. “C’mon, we can grab a bite to eat after.”