Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
And then, of course, I had to dodge on the topic of Conor when she told me to invite him. I told her he was busy, and besides, whatever Coach might have said, he’d probably appreciate not having one of his players tagging along on all his dates. She bought it, albeit skeptically. Mom can read me like a book—I’m sure she’s guessed the relationship has fizzled out, but she’s gracefully declining to press for details.
As much as I’m dreading tonight, I suppose it offers a distraction from the obvious, a commercial break in my infinite binge and self-pity party.
I’ve just got my hair up in a ponytail when there’s knocking on the door. I check my phone for the time. They’re early. Whatever. I didn’t feel like putting on makeup anyway.
“Just give me a second to find my shoes,” I say as I fling open the door.
It isn’t my mom.
Not Brenna either.
Conor stands in my doorway. “Hey,” he says roughly.
I’m momentarily struck by him. It’s like my heart had forgotten his face. His aura. His magnetism and spirit. I’ve forgotten the electric air that crackles around us whenever we’re in the same space, my body still a slave to its baser instincts.
“You can’t be here,” I blurt out.
“Are you going somewhere?” He examines me, taken aback.
“I have plans.” As badly as I want to throw my arms around him, I force myself to stick to my guns. Bite down and bear it. “You can’t be here, Conor.”
Already the nerves are tightening my chest, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. The strong urge to slam the door in his face and hide rears its head, as shame and embarrassment join the tangle of emotions I’m already feeling. I’m a war within a war, at odds with myself and losing.
“We need to talk.” Conor takes up the entire doorway, all broad shoulders and wide chest. Tension pounds off him like a palpable drumbeat.
“Now’s not a good time.” I try to shut the door on him. Instead, he muscles his way through like I’m not even standing here.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says, barging in, “but this can’t wait.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I charge into the living room after him.
His tone is flat, unhappy. “I know everything, T. Abigail came to my house and explained it all. The video, why you broke up with me. I know.”
Shock flies into me. Is he serious? And here I thought Abigail and I had an understanding. We’re really going to have to work on our communication.
“Well, I’m sorry she involved you,” I mutter, “but it’s really none of your concern, so—”
“I’m not sorry,” he cuts in. “Not one bit. What would ever make you think I wouldn’t want to stand beside you through this? That I wouldn’t want to be here to protect you?”
I ignore the sharp clench of my heart, avoid his imploring eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on, Taylor. This is me. You dragged my deepest, darkest secrets out of me because it almost cost us all of this,” he says, gesturing between us. “You can talk to me. Nothing changes how I feel about you.” His deep voice shakes slightly. “Let me help.”
“I don’t have time for this.” Or the emotional bandwidth. I’m strung out, exhausted. There’s no fight left in me this time. All I want is to close my eyes and make it all go away. “My mom is on her way over with Chad and Brenna for dinner.”
“So cancel. Let’s go to the police station. I promise, I’ll be right there beside you.”
“You don’t understand, Conor. I can’t. As humiliated as you were to talk to your mom and Max about Kai and the break-in, this is a hundred times worse.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” he counters. “You’re not the one who messed up.”
“It’s humiliating!” I shout back.
Oh my God, I’m at my fucking wit’s end having to explain this to everyone else. Don’t they get it? Don’t they see?
“I go in there, make a report—then that’s another dozen people who see the video,” I say desperately, starting to pace. “They file a case, go to court—that’s another dozen, two dozen. Every move I make invites more people to see me like that.”
“So what?” he snaps. “You’ve got to be getting sick of me telling you that you’re hot as hell, Taylor. Some poor suckers get a few seconds of joy watching you do nothing more than kiss a girl.”
“And you don’t care if a bunch of strangers see me practically naked?”
“I fucking care,” he growls. “And if you want me to beat the shit out of every dude in a twenty-mile radius who looks at you funny, I will. But there’s nothing about this that you should be ashamed of. You did nothing wrong. You’re the victim. When Abigail came by and told me and the guys, every one of them was ready to throw down in your honor. Nobody was cracking jokes or grabbing their phones. We’re only concerned for you. You’re all I care about, Taylor.”