Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I wish Ryann were home.
I’d spill my guts and confess everything and ask her why the fuck I want to throw up.
Hastily, I put my dishes in the sink and throw away the leftovers. The last thing I want is to sit here like a damn fool and have to listen to their giggling and flirting. Once upstairs I throw myself onto the bed, nudging the door closed with the toe of my shoe, staring up at the ceiling the same way I’ve been doing for the past few days thinking about one thing: Daisy.
Dude, you don’t even like her.
Don’t like her?
What the fuck are you talking about, of course you like her.
No. I’m saying you like her—as in: that kiss the two of you had the other night kept you up all night afterward. Made your mind start wondering ’bout all sorts of things. Girlfriends and relationships and what it might be like to have sex with the same person.
“Great. Now you’re talking to yourself.”
Punching the pillow, I roll over, gazing at the door, staring holes through the wall to the door across the hall.
You did what you set out to do.
Did you see how happy that poor bastard was?
Yes. But it makes no friggin’ sense. How is he acting as if he’s met Daisy before? How is he putting on such a good show? I know my brother, and there is no way he wasn’t being weird when she approached him ’cause I know she did.
She thought he was you, and you’d made out with her the night before.
“During class, the silly goof kept pretending not to know me.”
No shit he pretended not to know you—because he didn’t. Does she not see the big red flag he’s waving? Is she that blind?
People see what they want, but damn, Daisy. He isn’t me! He isn’t the dude you were dating.
I flop to the other side, then my back, picking up the remote and putting the TV on when I hear a muffled laugh.
Then another.
It’s going to be a long night.
twenty-three
daisy
Single
In a Relationship
Hungry
✔️Hungry
✔️IDK Cursed or something
“Oh my god, did you see the look on his face?” I’m whispering, despite the fact that the television is on in this room and it’s at the opposite end of the hallway.
Drew grins from his spot at his desk, spinning in the chair to face me.
“He looked like he was gonna toss his cookies.”
He did indeed look like he was going to barf.
“I was so nervous,” I declare, flopping down onto the bed, unable to get comfortable or find a spot where I want to stand.
“You were nervous?” Drew laughs. “Darlin’, I’m the one who looks like the idiot pretendin' we’ve been datin' when he knows damn well you and I have never met. I expected him to say somethin’.”
“Yeah, that was weird, right? That he just let us stand there talking?”
Drew spins again, pleased as punch. “Yeah, I wasn’t expectin' him to be cool about it. I thought he’d be… uncool.”
I stretch out, getting comfortable. “To his credit, this was his master plan from the beginnin’.”
Unfortunately.
“Maybe. But you keep forgettin’ that you had a date two days ago and that he kissed you.”
Forget?
Oh trust me, I haven’t forgotten—the date or the kiss, or the way he was starting to make me feel.
I glance around Drew Colters's bedroom, taking it all in. I may have had boyfriends in the past, but I can't recall ever being inside their bedrooms. Not that Drew is my boyfriend by any stretch of the imagination. Usually, the guy comes to my house, to my bedroom, not the other way around. Call it a way of controlling the situation, but I feel more comfortable having dudes at my place.
His walls have posters on them the same way he probably had when he was ten years old. On a bookshelf are some trophies and metals. Not many books unless you count textbooks, nothing fictional as I probably would have expected. Drew seems more of the studious type, so I'm surprised he doesn't do any reading. Then again, maybe he doesn't have the time.
His bedding is gray. Walls, too.
Dirty laundry in a pile. Soda cans on the desk.
An overflowing trash can.
It reminds me of a teenage boy’s room, not a room for a college athlete.
I wonder what Drake’s bedroom looks like. I imagine that it's dark and messy, with an unmade bed and clothes on the floor. I imagine he spends a lot of time watching television and not a lot of time studying.
Down the hallway, I hear a toilet flush.
Drew lets out a loud, bellowing laugh.
“What the heck are you laughing at?”
He grins. “My brother’s in the bathroom. I thought it'd be funny if we made it sound like we were having a really good time in here.”
“Are you saying we're not having a really good time in here?” I dig my hand into the popcorn bag and take out a handful, stuffing some in my mouth.