Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
I could convince myself that I feel the same way about her as I do Hammer, Hemi, Essie, and Dred—a friend who’s a girl and firmly platonic. But her proposition has altered everything. I don’t want to understand, to empathize, but I do. Especially now that she’s explained and I’ve had a chance to reframe it all. But I can’t pursue her. Her world is too fragile, and I would be devastated if I hurt her.
I pick up the book and immerse myself in the story, but whenever something funny or interesting happens, I find myself itching to text Tally. Before the proposition, I would have thought nothing of firing off a quick message. But it’s not just about the book. I want to make sure she’s okay, to tell her everything she said this morning made sense. It’s a bad idea, though. Tristan was right, I can’t lead her on.
My phone buzzes on the side table.
I flip it over, half hoping it’s her. If Tally reaches out first, I can respond.
But it’s just an alert from my fan page. There are ten new messages, and all but two are from women who want to hook up.
It’s the reminder I need.
Because if I give in, I don’t think I could handle it when she continued her life and left me behind. That’s what always happens. She doesn’t want to keep me; she just wants my help.
CHAPTER 9
TALLY
“Can we all fit in another rehearsal later this week?” I rest my heel on the barre and bend until my cheek meets my knee while scrolling my calendar. Just call me the multitasking queen.
“My schedule is open, apart from Wednesday,” Charles says.
“Same, but Thursday is my heavy day,” Arya offers.
“What about Saturday?” Exams are on the horizon, and we have an in-class group performance piece that’s worth twenty percent of our Contemporary Dance mark this semester.
Charles scrolls through the booking calendar on his phone. “Are we okay with a seven a.m. start? I know it’s early, but there’s a two-hour block available, and all the afternoon spots are already taken.”
“I’m an early riser anyway,” I say as I reject yet another call from my mom. I’m in full avoidance mode.
“I can do it,” Arya agrees.
We book several more slots, most at the more reasonable start time of nine a.m. Charles sometimes works the late shift at the campus store.
When we’ve finished booking practice sessions, I drop them at their apartments on the south side of campus—the perks of having my own car and a parking pass—then drive to my building at the north end. While I drive, I listen to my mom’s most recent voicemail, asking if I’d like to come for dinner, and to please call her back.
I’m still processing, and I’m angry at both of my parents. Ties is coping by spending all his spare time at robotics, and Fenna is drowning herself in cello. According to my siblings, Mom has rekindled every single former hobby she’s ever had, and Dad is doing what Dad does best: work. I can’t deplete what little emotional energy I have with exams around the corner.
Besides, I’m hanging out with my Tilton U crew tonight, so home is a no-go, unless I want to bring a dark cloud with me. That’s exactly what would happen if I went for dinner with the fam.
Instead, I soak in the tub for half an hour while I read Cammie’s fic update. The chapter is extra spicy, so I end up envisioning my fantasy Flip as the various heroes during my manual stress relief session. In one scene, the heroine sits in hero one’s lap (dirty Flip), her back to his chest, riding him while he whispers dirty things in her ear. Her (my) legs are hooked around his, and he spreads her (me) wide while hero two (sweet Flip) kneels between their parted thighs and sucks her (my) clit.
I come twice and am far more relaxed as I pick an outfit. Fee and I step out of our rooms at the same time.
“Did you read the update?” she asks.
“Oh yeah.”
“Same.”
We nod at each other.
“It’s times like these I envy Cammie’s prolific love life.”
“Also same,” I agree.
We pull on coats and tuck our feet into our shoes while Parsnip paws at the door.
“I’ll throw the mouse.” She picks up Parsnip’s favorite toy from the entry table fishbowl.
“And I’ll throw the treats.” I shake the bag, which gets Parsnip’s attention.
He paws at my legs, then rushes down the hall when Fee throws his mouse. I confetti toss treats as she slips into the hall, following behind her. Parsnip yowls his discontent from the other side of the door. He’s a complete menace, and the most adorable problem. I’ll never regret giving him a home.
Cammie and Chase meet us in the lobby, and we file out into the cold December night. We huddle into our coats as we leave campus and head to one of our favorite restaurants for a bite to eat before we go to the hockey house party.