Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Thank you for coming,” Morgan said as she rubbed my arm.
Wren’s eyes went to Morgan’s hand for a moment.
Then she turned around, got in her car, and left.
• • •
A few nights later at dinner, Morgan dropped a bomb.
“Dylan told me he and Wren have a date set for this weekend.”
I’d been bracing for this, but I still dropped my fork, perhaps a little too loudly. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I think it’s great.” She examined my face. “You don’t?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. You just don’t seem that happy about me setting them up.”
I looked away, and my eyes landed on Rafe across the table. He was staring at me. That made lying all the more difficult. But telling the truth—I’m jealous—wasn’t an option.
“You’re imagining it,” I assured her.
“I thought maybe you felt protective of her or something because she’s Rafe’s sister. You know I wouldn’t hook her up with anyone unless I was a hundred-percent sure he was a good guy. Which Dylan is.”
I resumed eating with a nod. “You’re absolutely right. Dylan is great.”
“Okay.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Anyway… I think it’s cool they’re going out.”
“No one’s gonna ask me what I think of Dylan?” Rafe asked.
We turned to him in unison.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Morgan said. “You’re right. You met him at the party. What did you think?”
Rafe spoke with his mouth full of pasta. “I think he’s a tool.”
I couldn’t help but snort. Rafe resumed eating without any further explanation. And Morgan must have been too surprised to continue her questioning. She just looked between us with her mouth hanging open.
Later that night, lying in bed, I had an uncontrollable urge to text Wren. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say to her. I held the phone in my hand, and my finger hovered over her name for what felt like minutes on end. I eventually shoved my phone in my side-table drawer and slammed it shut. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the urge go away.
There was nothing I could say to her that wouldn’t come off as inappropriate. Acknowledging that I knew about her date with Dylan—no. Giving my opinion about it? Also no. Telling her I was thinking about her? Big no. Texting her at all: inappropriate.
Yet the need continued. So I opened my laptop and did something I hadn’t done in ages. I logged on to the website that housed her RenCello account. I felt like an addict who’d relapsed after a long period of sobriety. But relapsing through her music was far better than saying or doing something I’d regret. This kept my fucked-up feelings my problem, not anyone else’s.
Wren had uploaded a new performance. I looked at the date and realized it had been posted the night of the barbecue. It was a cello version of the Amy Winehouse song, “Love is a Losing Game.”
Wren
Gosh, where is he?
I’d taken the trolley into the city to meet Rafe at Boston University for a college tour. I’d been looking forward to it since I knew this area pretty well. It was close to my own alma mater, Boston College of Music. After the tour, I’d planned to take him out to dinner at one of my favorite haunts in Kenmore Square.
We were supposed to meet in front of the student union at three. But it was 3:15, and he wasn’t here yet. I supposed fifteen minutes wasn’t that late—especially for a teenager—but I was starting to feel paranoid that maybe I’d screwed up the time. I’d been known to do that.
Then I heard a voice from behind me. “Wren? What are you doing here?”
I turned to face the source of the sound—Dax, not Rafe—my heart awakening at the sight of his handsome face. It had been almost a month since I’d seen him at Rafe’s party, and that had seemed like forever. Dax looked so damn hot in a black wool coat and scarf, his hair blowing a bit in the wind. He took my breath away; every time I looked at Dax was like the first. I wished I could’ve run into his arms.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I’m meeting Rafe for a tour of BU.”
His eyes narrowed. “He told me to meet him here at three to do the same, but I got stuck in traffic coming from downtown.”
“He didn’t mention you were coming with us,” I said.
Dax scratched his chin. “He told me it would be just him and me.”
I blew a breath up into my forehead. “The question is…why is he not here and we are?”
“That’s a damn good question. Let me call him.” Dax took out his phone and scrolled. A moment later, he said, “Rafe! Where are you?” He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re kidding. I took off the rest of the day for this. I canceled two important meetings. Your sister is here, too. Her time is equally as precious.” Dax paced. “You need to be more responsible.” He exhaled. “Alright. Alright. Go.” Then he paused. “What?” He laughed. “Okay. Goodbye.” He pressed end and shoved the phone back in his pocket.