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)
“No, I mean I can’t see him.”
The idea of facing him after this has me feeling queasy again. Like the slightest nudge could send me hugging the toilet.
“Do you want me to call him, say you’re sick or something?” Our eyes meet in the mirror. Reading my face, Sasha’s expression sobers. “Are you going to tell him?”
Tell him what? That I’m now a trending topic on one of the world’s most popular porn sites?
That when he tells his mom and stepdad about me, they can go online and see my tits?
That every one of my mom’s Rate My Professor reviews will now include a link to her daughter?
Bile rises in my throat as panic once again attacks my insides.
Oh my fucking God. This is going to affect my entire life. What happens when elementary school principals and parents get a look at Ms. Marsh and her famous rack and I’m banned from every school district across the country because a woman’s body is more dangerous than a hand grenade?
“Taylor—”
I push Sasha’s hand off me and lunge for the toilet again, where I kneel there dry-heaving.
I didn’t choose this. To be put on display. To be the object of humiliation. The thought of Conor having to deal with it too makes me want to cry again.
His teammates will see the video. Spank it under the covers then smirk every time they see me. Hang screenshots in the locker room. He doesn’t deserve to have a fucking embarrassment, no, a joke, for a girlfriend. And then what? He’ll forever have to keep defending me? Keep being infinitely patient and understanding during the numerous freak-outs I now envision in my future?
I can’t live like that, constantly feeling like everyone I meet is seeing me naked and knowing I’m embarrassing my boyfriend even if he pretends otherwise. I can’t. I can’t see him anymore.
I fucking can’t.
“Take me home,” I say, rising on wobbly legs. “I’ll text him on the way.”
Sasha nods. “Whatever you need.”
Once I’ve gathered my things, we head downstairs. But the universe hates me, so I’m not surprised to discover that Conor is early.
He’s striding up the darkened driveway as we open the door. Dressed in a sharp black suit somewhere behind an enormous flower arrangement. I never get tired of seeing him all pressed and polished. He’s like sex personified. A walking fantasy.
And I’m walking away.
He smiles wide when he sees me, then notices my rumpled state and gives a sheepish look. “Shit. You’re not ready. I’m sorry, I should have done another couple laps.” He’s adorable when he’s excited. And here I am about to take him out back with a shotgun. “I was getting a little overanxious. But I can wait.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I have to cancel.”
The words come out in someone else’s voice. Distant and strange. I feel myself shutting down even as I stand under the lights of the house. My mind is peeling away from my body, recoiling from everything.
“Why? What happened?”
He sets the huge flower arrangement on the ground and tries to reach for me, but I step out of his grasp. If I let him touch me, my resolve will crack. I’m not strong enough to withstand Conor Edwards’ touch.
“Taylor, what’s wrong?” The hurt in his eyes is immediate and gutting.
I can’t form the words. I remember how frustrated I was last month when he wasn’t communicating with me, and yet here I am, doing the same thing. But his shit was righted by the simple act of telling his family the truth, removing himself from Kai’s influence.
My shit isn’t going away. The truth won’t help a goddamn bit, because the Internet is fucking forever.
How the hell do I ask him to tie himself to that bullshit long-term? He’s been so patient and encouraging already, but this is too much for anyone to handle. It’s too much for me.
I see the alarm on his face, and I know what comes next. The pain, the betrayal. I don’t want to do this to him. He deserves better and probably always has. We were a mess from the start and maybe it’s fitting it should be just as messy at the end. He won’t understand, but he’ll get over it. They always do.
“I’m sorry, Conor. It’s over.”
39
Conor
This isn’t funny. Because she has to be messing with me, right? Some sick idea of a joke. In lieu of presents I will be scaring the shit out of you.
“Taylor, stop.”
“I’m serious,” she says, looking at her feet.
I came up to the Kappa house to find her acting suspiciously, like she was making an escape. Bag slung over her shoulder. She looks worn out, ragged, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was hung-over. Yet there’s a coldness about her. Her expression hard and impassive, as if my Taylor isn’t even in there anymore.