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)
“How long are you staying in town?” I ask.
“Planning to head back tomorrow morning. Why, what’s up?”
“Well, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday tonight and we’ve got plans with her friends. But if you don’t mind sticking around a bit longer, maybe the three of us could have dinner tomorrow night? I was talking to Mom about my girl coming to visit me in California this summer.”
Max’s face breaks into a wide smile that he then tries to smother as he nods. “Not a problem. I can change my flight. You just let me know where and when. I’d love to meet her.”
I can’t help thinking Taylor would be proud of me right now.
37
Taylor
Conor is up to something. There’s a definite sense of mischief about him. Nothing he’s said, exactly, just more of a vibe I’m getting. He texted this morning to wish me a happy birthday and to tell me to get dressed up this evening. Which is unusual, since lately he’s been more concerned with getting me undressed. Then he dropped a hint that he wouldn’t be able to meet me after class because he had “special errands to attend to.”
Whatever he’s got planned for our date tonight, I have a feeling he’s gone completely overboard. And I can’t say I’d be mad at him. Truth is, I’ve never had a boyfriend on my birthday before, so I’m sort of looking forward to getting the full Hallmark movie treatment television promised me. More than anything, I’m excited about the prospect of Conor and me making memories.
Of course, getting dressed up requires a consultation with my beauty advisor. I text Sasha as I’m leaving class.
ME: Hot date tonight. Do my face?
She gives good face. One of her many shifting career aspirations over the last couple years has been to work as a makeup artist. At least as a way of supporting her music interests, and if that whole supervillain thing doesn’t work out.
By the time I reach my street on the walk home, she texts back.
HER: Why bother? Just going to ruin it sucking Conor’s dick.
HER: JK just got home, come on over.
ME: lol you said come.
HER: Mind out of the gutter, dirty girl.
ME: You started it.
I add a string of nonsensical but contextually explicit emojis, then pick up my dress from my apartment and take an Uber to Greek Row.
I do need to get better at balancing my time. Being totally absorbed in a couple cocoon has been fun, but I don’t want to neglect my friends. Sasha, especially. More than anyone else, she has supported me through the rough spots over the last few years. I probably would’ve had a total nervous breakdown and set my hair on fire more than once if it weren’t for her. But lately I feel like I have no idea what’s going on in her life, which is a sign that I’ve been taking more than I’ve given. Major friendship no-no on my part. I need to change that, asap.
The weather’s finally warming up, which means the typically quiet lawns of Greek Row on a weekday afternoon are more active. Porches are dotted with people studying. A few lounge chairs in the grass contain girls working on their tans for summer vacation. At the Sigma frat house, guys are playing beer pong in the driveway. I don’t pay much attention to their shouts and catcalls as I slide out of the Uber and plant my feet on the sidewalk.
The frat boys shower me with unimaginative variations on “show us your tits,” the typical garbage girls get from that house. Then something catches my attention.
“Hey superstar! Can we get a picture?”
“Can I have your autograph?”
“Where do I sign up for the live cam?”
That sounds…specific. Quite oddly so.
I keep my eyes straight ahead and don’t slow down as I hurry up the front path of the Kappa house. The best defense is not giving them the satisfaction of a response. Mulling it over, I chalk it up to a dumb joke. Abigail’s boyfriend likes to call me a “fat Marilyn Monroe,” so I assume that’s what the whole superstar gimme your autograph junk refers to.
Well, he and his douchey Sigma brothers can fuck right off. I happen to know that some men like curves, particularly men named Conor Edwards.
I can barely keep the smile off my face as I walk into the house. I can’t wait to see him tonight. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I’m so gone for that guy. Just the thought of him makes me want to giggle like a preteen with her first crush.
Upstairs, Sasha has a beauty station set up for me at her desk when I enter her room. I toss my bag on her bed and hang my dress on the closet door. “You’re the best,” I inform her.