Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“What is with all the lies, Boyd?” I’ve managed to make it through lunch with the girls without having a complete freakout. No, I’ve saved that for Boyd. So I ignore his annoyance and dive in with my own.
“What?” Surprise crosses his face. His forehead creases and his face softens. “Chloe, what are you talking about?”
“Us!” I cry. “The favors were all a lie, right? You didn’t need a date for that wedding, did you? You probably cancelled on some other girl to take me.” His brow lifts a fraction when I say that and I know I’m right. “Offering to help me with my dating skills? Bringing me donuts and giving me all those life-altering orgasms?” He smiles at this and it just pisses me off. “Do not smile at me, Boyd. Don’t! I don’t know what is real and what is a lie with you. Are we dating? What the hell does Chloe-and-Boyding even mean? Does it mean friends with benefits? Does it mean you’re my boyfriend?”
“I think you know there’s something here, Chloe.” He says it softly, like he’s trying to calm me down. “Between us.”
“Well, I think you need to think about that,” I snap back. “Maybe I’m not capable of what you want from me.”
“I think you are.” He looks directly at me, his gaze unwavering. “I know you are.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,” I say, waving my hands because I’m starting to get panicky. No. I was past panicky an hour ago. I’m headed straight towards somewhere I don’t want to go and something I don’t want him to see.
“It’s pretty simple, Chloe.” His tone is gentle. “Don’t believe the lies. Trust me. Trust the way I make you feel. Trust me when I tell you that I love you.”
Oh, God.
I feel like the rest of my life is teetering on this moment. And it’s too much. I need a freaking second, but Boyd is standing here looking for answers.
His cell phone rings—the ringtone one I recognize. It’s the one assigned to work—the one he always has to take. He groans and answers it, muttering a terse, “One second,” into the phone before holding it at his side and pulling me onto one of the stools at his kitchen island. A glass of water is set in front of me and he tells me to breathe and give him one second before turning his back and barking into the phone.
Obviously that’s when I get the hell out.
I’m shaking. My heart is racing so fast and my breathing is heavy. I’m having a panic attack. I swallow hard and my eyes burn. My throat is tight as I fight back the threatening tears because for me, a bad panic attack makes me sob too. As if the rest of it wasn’t bad enough, the threat of tears is always the final insulting straw. I hate the feeling before crying. Actual tears aren’t as bad as that moment before, when the throbbing starts behind my eyes and I feel ashamed for crying on top of everything else.
I know it’s likely Boyd will follow me, and I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Not ever. It’s been years since I had a panic attack. Since I moved into the dorms freshman year. I got there a few hours before Everly and after my mom left I lost it. Everly wasn’t there yet, I was alone in a new place about to start a new chapter and I don’t know, I just lost it. And it’s stupid, right? I was about to start college with my best friend by my side. A great college that I wanted to go to, was thrilled to be at and was qualified to excel in academically. I had nothing to be unhappy about. Yet I sat in that dorm room feeling like all the air got sucked out of the room and the walls were closing in on me.
I felt alone even though the halls were bustling with people just outside my door. But what good does that do? When you’re surrounded by people who wouldn’t understand? Who don’t really know you? Maybe they’d want to help or maybe they’d think you were a drama llama. A hot mess they’d want to steer away from for the rest of the year.
So I focused on the empty bulletin board over my desk and breathed. In and out, in and out until it subsided. And then I calmly unpacked all my things and put my bed together. Fixed my makeup and quietly left the dorm to take a walk, my chest still tight, my shoulders heavy. I ended up in the campus library, where I walked up and down the aisles of books and fought off all the fears that were threatening to strangle me and focused on how lucky I was to be there.