Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
And if I had even a little bit of common sense, I would’ve paid attention to this fact and prepared myself. And then I wouldn’t have taken cover like a coward behind a pillar. Thank God my friends were there to build me back up and get me out of there. So I could face the situation head-on. Only I never could’ve imagined, not in a million years, that the situation would become this.
So the boyfriends and the brothers? Turns out, they know him.
Yeah.
Apparently, they’re all soccer buddies from high school. They used to play each other, one of Callie’s brothers — Ledger I think his name is — her husband and him. Bardstown East and Bardstown West. So they know each other.
Again, if I’d paid even a little bit of attention to soccer back when I went to all those games, I probably would’ve known this little tidbit of information. But I didn’t and from the looks of it, they don’t just know each other, they’re all really good friends.
And they’re just so happy to see each other.
So happy to be catching up and mingling and talking like the long-lost friends that they are.
Laughing even.
Him, laughing right in front of me when I’m going to fucking pieces right now.
I can’t compute that.
I can’t compute any of this, any of what’s happening. And I need to because time’s running out. I need to get my head on straight so I can do what I came here to do.
Talk to the boy I love.
Whose heart I broke, not once but twice, in one night.
He’s here too, sitting ten feet away from me and…
“He’s looking at you.”
The voice whispering in my ear sort of wakes me up and helps me focus.
Sitting on the couch, surrounded by my friends, I’ve been keeping my eyes glued to the glass of orange juice in my lap. Trying to look all cool and unaffected. Not like the desperate quivering mess of an ex-girlfriend that I am.
“What?” I whisper back.
“He,” Jupiter repeats slowly, her green eyes sparkling, “is looking. At you.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “W-who?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Who do you think?”
“Him?”
“Um, yes.”
My heart thuds again and then starts to beat really rapidly and loudly and chaotically.
Because it’s been two years. Two whole years and so I’d forgotten.
I’d forgotten that this is what he does.
He stares.
He watches.
He keeps his reddish-brown eyes pinned on me whenever we’re in the same room, the same space.
And every time he did that, I’d sweat. I’d shiver.
From the heat in them.
From the hate in them.
But then why would he need to stare at me now? I’m not his best friend’s girlfriend anymore, am I?
Shouldn’t he be happy now?
Shouldn’t his hate, if not gone completely, have lessened?
He got what he wanted.
He won.
I fist my fingers around the tumbler of orange juice. “I can’t believe he’s doing that. I can’t believe he’s looking at me in front of his best friend. After what…”
I trail off because Jupiter is giving me weird looks. Ones that suggest that she’s confused at my reaction, that she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
And then I realize that she probably doesn’t.
Because she isn’t talking about what I think she’s talking about — or whom.
“You…” I clear my throat, squirming in my seat. “You mean him, don’t you? You mean, Lucas is looking at me.”
She studies me for a second or two. “Who else did you think I was talking about?”
“No one.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “No one.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat again. “I-I mean, I knew you were talking about Lucas.” Before she can say anything else, I add, “I’m just really stressed.”
Not a lie.
I am. And probably that’s why while she was referring to my ex-boyfriend, I thought she was talking about his best friend.
“I know,” she says, sighing. “I’m sorry. I wish we could do something. I wish I could go over there and punch that son of a bitch in his goddamn gorgeous face.”
This time, I know that she’s talking about him for sure.
Needless to say, Jupiter knows who he is and my entire history with him.
Although I will say that I’ve left a few details out.
As in, what exactly happened on the night of the breakup.
I never told her how I was partially responsible for it too. I never told her about the kiss.
Not deliberately though.
I didn’t set out to lie or omit things.
Two years ago, when I shared this story with her, everything was so fresh and I was so ashamed at what I’d done. So I glossed over it. And given my history with him, she simply assumed that he might have been responsible for the breakup and I didn’t correct her.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell Jupiter, feeling guilty for hiding things from her. “I’m just —”
“Are we talking about the gorgeous villain who’s so disgustingly gorgeous that all I want to do is look at him and not look at him at the same time?”