Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Getting the balance right was tough, but I was determined this time. I was reasonably sure my bad habits hadn’t tipped into a full-scale issue. I wasn’t an alcoholic or an addict…yet. I could control this. I had to. There was no way I was doing another secret rehab stint.
No way.
I had to get my shit together. I couldn’t stay at Smithton forever, hiding from familial expectation. Besides, other than Brady, my best friends were graduating this year, and I was already on the brink of being the pathetic old guy on campus. Christ, I was going to be twenty-five this year. Twenty-fucking-five.
But I wouldn’t get anywhere if I couldn’t think clearly. So…I went cold turkey.
News flash: it sucked.
I’d been nauseous at practice on Monday and had actually taken a break to puke in the middle of sprints.
“You okay, Langley?” Coach had asked.
“Stomach bug. I’m fine.” I’d grabbed my stick and blasted onto the ice. Not fast enough to avoid Coach’s penetrating stare.
I wondered if he knew I was a mess. I wondered if they all knew and that the only person I’d been fooling all along was me.
Yep, that was when the paranoia set in.
I’d been positive the TA in my criminal justice class was looking at me weird the next day. Shar, our favorite waitress at Bear Depot, had set her hand on my forehead and told me I needed more rest. Darya at Coffee Cave had questioned my latte order, and that had sent me spinning, too.
“Sure you don’t want the extra shot? You usually order it that way.”
Oh, right.
I’d smiled, but it had felt plastic, as if I’d been wearing a broken mask.
I found myself checking my pits to be extra sure I didn’t stink ’cause damn, I was sweaty and jittery too. Everyone had to notice.
But they didn’t.
Ty was in la-la land with Walker, Brady was freaked out about midterms, and Regan was having girlfriend issues. I nodded and said a few encouraging words, like, “Happy for you man” to Ty and “You got this, Brade-ster” to Brady, and “Cassie’s awesome, Re-Man. Just talk to her.”
Christ, I sounded normal.
By Wednesday, I’d thought I had my mojo back. I’d been strong at practice—my passing game on point and my reflexes legit quick. Four days sober was all it had taken. Fuck, yeah!
For someone who sought excuses to celebrate, this was it. Party at my pad! But I’d stayed strong.
Good thing too ’cause Thursday, I’d run into a pretty brunet who’d greeted me like an old friend and I’d spiraled all over again.
“Hey you,” she’d purred, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she’d twirled a strand of her long hair around her finger. “You didn’t text me.”
I’d read the social cues and put the pieces together, but they were incomplete at best. Was there a polite way to tell someone that you couldn’t remember their name or place them in a lineup? Probably not. And I certainly wasn’t about to admit that I wasn’t sure what we’d done. Her look had indicated that whatever it was had been sexy. But had we made out or fucked or something in between? Had it been good?
A rogue memory of waking up half-naked and queasy the other morning had flashed in my mind. So real that my stomach had flipped and I’d almost gagged.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with midterms and practice.”
She’d trailed a manicured finger down my chest, gazing up at me with a saucy expression that had left little room for misinterpretation. She’d wanted me.
Me.
Was she nuts?
Last week I would have been all over this. I’d have immediately invited her to the house for a repeat. Why wait till evening? We could go now and fuck like bunnies. I’d charm her name from her, and she’d never know I was a shithead with the maturity of a blowfish.
But this week…she was living, breathing proof that I was a complete and total fuckup. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and at a loss as to how to tell someone they could do better with literally any other man on the planet.
“You have my number. Use it.” She’d left before I could respond.
I’d swiped my forearm across my mouth and speed-walked to my truck, my fingers shaking as I’d turned on the engine.
Get your shit together, Langley.
So yeah…it had been a bad week.
The only saving grace was that Rafe hadn’t been home much. I figured he was still supremely pissed at me for the partying, the mess, and the grocery bullshit. Maybe he needed some space or was just busy, but for the sake of sanity, I chose to believe he hadn’t thought twice about me.
Either way, I’d been on my best behavior. I’d kept the house tidy, I hadn’t touched anything that didn’t belong to me in the kitchen, and I hadn’t invited anyone over. I’d stayed out of Rafe’s way as much as humanly possible and worked on keeping my shit together. A mumbled greeting in the hallway had been the extent of our interaction.