Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
For someone who never used to screw up, I’m really making up for lost time.
I fall into the chair next to Dallas and glance at my phone. Alice hasn’t returned any of my texts since I dropped her off at her dorm after practice yesterday. She even refused fish tacos. It’s official––she’s mad at me.
“You’re in the right place. We specialize in screwups here.” He reaches into the cooler next to his chair, pulls out a can of Hazy IPA, and hands it over. Staring out at the Technicolor horizon, I crack open my beer and drink.
Two surfers bob on the water waiting to catch a wave. With the Santa Monica Bay as still as a hockey rink, they’ll be waiting a while.
“Where were you this morning?” I looked for him before heading off to class and found him gone and D isn’t a natural early riser unless he’s catching waves.
“Beverly Hills.”
That puts a confused frown on my face. “Why?”
“New shrink.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. He’s been in danger of going off the rails lately––more so than usual––and the fact that he’s willing to talk to someone about it makes me feel immensely better. “You like this one?”
He shrugs, sips his beer. “We’ll see.”
I check out the wet suit pulled down to his waist. “You went surfing without me.”
“Had to clear my head.”
I stretch out my legs, heels kicked up on the brick wall that separates the patio from the beach.
He side-eyes me briefly. “So…what happened?”
“I got in a fight with Alice.” I’m still in shock over my reaction, the feelings that slammed into me when I saw her making heart eyes at the shady guy.
Ownership, that’s what it was. Raw and primal.
The image of her beaming up at the guy flashes in my mind and I shift in my seat. My skin feels shrink-wrapped. My mood wilts. It’s taking a lot to keep it up lately. Unless I’m with Bailey.
How could she really be into that guy? Maybe I misinterpreted. Maybe I didn’t. “She was talking to some dude and I lost my shit on her.”
Dallas chuckles. “Been there.” Pushing off the wall, he tips his chair back and lets it drop. “You know what possessiveness is?”
My feelers go up. This sounds like a trap. I glance sideways, to get a better read on the exact level of bullshit I’m dealing with and find nothing noteworthy. “Toxic?”
“Nah, man. It’s the soul’s recognition that the object of your affection is so precious and singular you know you’ll never find another.”
Despite D’s uncanny ability to read people, I wouldn’t call him particularly deep. His words do strike a chord, though.
Alice is singular. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s smart and fun to be around, talented and passionate. And she gets me. I can’t even articulate all the ways she gets me. She’s the most precious thing in my life by far. “Are you fucking with me, or do you really believe that?”
Dallas’s gaze cuts sideways, his expression contemplative. “Yeah. I’m dead serious. Read it in an Insta meme a while back and it stuck with me.”
I knew the bullshit was waiting to make an appearance. “That’s just great,” I say, head shaking. “I should’ve known.”
“Who cares where I got it. Don’t throw out the message with the messenger.”
Maybe he’s right. “What would you do in my place?”
“Apologize and get on with the make-up sex. Best kind there is, bro.”
“We’ve never had sex. We’re only friends.”
He finally turns to get a good look at me, confusion all over his face. “You’re serious? I thought you were just trying to keep it low-key. Why not?”
“Because we’re friends,” I annunciate clearly, my frustration with the entire situation coming to the surface again.
“So you’re saying you don’t get a boner for her.”
All I get is boners for her. I wish that wasn’t the case, but it is. We agreed to be friends and only friends. That was the plan. Until one night I’m grabbing my dick and her flashing dark eyes appeared, next it was her heart-shaped ass, then her lips. And it didn’t stop there. It never stops.
Even worse, I feel less than zero motivation to stick my dick elsewhere. The dick wants what it wants. You can’t reason or argue with it. But I also know you’re also not supposed to want to bury it inside your friend.
“Man, c’mon,” I say. It makes me irritable as hell to hear him speak that way about her.
“C’mon, what? Since when are we not allowed to mention boners?”
“Not about Alice.” I crush the empty can and chuck it into the trash bin, rub my face. “Yeah, boners aren’t the problem. Or maybe they are the problem. I dunno…”
“What is the problem, then?”
“I can’t deal with any more responsibility, or expectations. I can’t be in a relationship…I’d fuck it up anyway.”