Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Not really.”
Ivo chuckles and gently nudges me under the table with his foot.
He wants me to keep the peace.
Not because he gives a shit about her but because they’re clients.
And he wants to keep their business.
And they provide a lot of income as well as bring in new opportunities for it.
I stifle my irritation down just enough to ask, “What are you going down there for?”
“Hit the flask,” Bambi openly replies with no regard to who can hear her, “plus, Mo Mo needs a ciggy wiggy.”
Fuck, why does she talk like that?
Who convinced her guys would be into her talking to them like that?
I give Pres another glance this time just as she does me.
Hope floods my system faster than any hit ever could.
I adjust my black tie.
Dust off any crumbs from my shirt.
Sit up straighter.
Hold her stare until she looks away to speak to Carmen who appears to be bailing.
“I’m good.”
My casual brush off receives a pouty sound that forces my attention to her.
“But Collins Wollins-”
“I said I’m good,” I calmly repeat.
“Fine whatever,” Bambi huffs at the same time she stands up. “But don’t be pissed when you miss me and Morgan making out.”
“I don’t wanna miss that,” Dennis volunteers.
“See.” My head tilts towards him. “Take Dennis. He’ll be a great audience and make sure you don’t get raped by anyone that’s not him.”
She laughs an outrageous amount.
Shows all of her teeth including the ones that have lipstick on them and black pepper from dinner stuck in them.
I start to groan in irritation only to receive another nudge under the table from Ivo.
Fuck, he’s like a drug dealing savior.
And honestly…the only real fucking friend I have.
It was his ass that pointed how I needed to get my shit together to graduate.
It was his ass that recommend I be careful playing it so fucking fast and furious with pharmys.
It was also his ass that gave me free bud and let me vent about the bullshit divorce my parents are going through.
I didn’t wanna and don’t wanna talk to Bambi about it.
Can’t talk to Pres, although I do want to.
Ever since “the incident” I haven’t been able to reach her.
And I’ve fucking tried.
Noah let me borrow his credit card to send her some shit after I told him she had been in the hospital. I, of course, left out the part about it being my fault that she was there. When he asked for details, I just repeated the same ridiculous rumors that were going around campus. I mentioned how cops were speculating it was a robbery gone wrong. Then a stalker situation. Then a fucking hate crime. Every theory was more outrageous than the last, and my brother understood my desperation to prove I cared even if the rest of the world didn’t need to see it.
Every dollar I spent went only to things for her like it was penance – a word I read for English Lit two days ago that really fucking hit home.
Other amends for that shitty night have come in the form of creating more distance from Bambi – I’m paving the way for a breakup the day before graduation –, practically living at the gym to avoid being at home as much as to prevent getting my nose dirty, and helping out Ivo on the occasion – extra hands on a delivery – in exchange for shit to help me sleep at night – usually Northern Lights or a couple of scripts.
She’s owed an apology.
Especially for not turning me over to the red and blues.
And she’s gonna get it.
Face to face.
Heart to fucking heart.
The second the three of them are out of the room, I immediately stand to go over to her. My body hasn’t even left the table when Ivo casually warns, “Careful, Collins.”
I drop my stare down to his.
“Your ass is on your own if you go over there.”
He’s given a small nod of acknowledgment.
I know.
And I fucking know how dumb it is to try to talk to her in a crowd.
It won’t be the dumbest shit I’ve ever done – fucking obviously – but it’s definitely one of the most desperate.
Then again, nowadays everything I’m doing is some degree of fucking desperate, isn’t it?
Moving from my table to hers happens at just a slightly faster pace than a simple stroll. It’s not hard to dodge the other seniors and juniors here to make memories. Hell, it’s not even difficult to avoid saying hi to those that are anxious to acknowledge me. The only issue I really have is remembering how to breathe so that I don’t pass out in her presence.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt the conversation she’s having with the Taye Diggs look alike who has been sweet talking her all night.
And I’d fucking know.
I’ve been studying that shit like they’re what I’m taking my finals over.