Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Chapter 9
Dotty
Officially, I hate social media. The comments have been vicious. Girls pointing out my every flaw. Men commenting on my body.
I wish I could say the one good thing is that my parents saw the news and reached out. But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. I shouldn’t let it all hurt so much, but my heart is raw. The bright spot in all of it is that Zac texts me every morning. He calls me his beautiful girl. He says he’s crazy about me.
I know he’s playing the part, like he was when he dragged me into the woods and started kissing me. Kisses that left my panties damp and my body aching for his touch. But I’m not his, and this is a fantasy I’m living.
“What’s wrong?” Sadie asks quietly when I enter her bakery an hour before our book club meeting. The other girls aren’t here yet. I needed time to catch up with my bestie. We’ve barely talked since the news broke even though she’s been dying to know the details.
To my embarrassment, I burst into tears. She ushers me into the back of the bakery, so her customers don’t see her friend having a complete meltdown. She gestures at Barrett to handle the tables. He hangs around a lot. Ever since the two of them got together, I rarely see them apart. It’s so sweet and so romantic.
“Spill it,” Sadie says when we’re in the commercial kitchen. She’s shoved a jelly donut and a coffee at me.
I take a bite of the donut and sniff. “I’m not really dating Zac.”
She makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t offer any commentary on the fact that I’ve been lying to everyone. “Is that what has you feeling sad?”
“People suck,” I explain. I pass her my phone. “Do you see these comments?”
She flicks through them, seeing the fans that are picking me apart. My hair isn’t pretty enough. My body isn’t skinny enough. My face isn’t clear enough. Don’t they realize I look in the mirror and already see those flaws?
“Why do they feel the need to comment like that?”
“They’re jealous,” Sadie explains. “They want him, and you got him. You’re competition now.”
I shake my head. “I never wanted to compete.”
She passes me back my phone. “Fuck those people, Dotty. You’re amazing. You know that.”
I blow out a deep breath. “I’ve been working extra hard on my meditations about self-acceptance. But it still doesn’t come easy. Now, when I go outside, I’m thinking about my hair and my makeup. I’m wondering if everyone else is paying attention to what I eat, or how much I eat.” I shake my head.
“But that’s not the only thing bothering you,” Sadie presses, sensing my feelings before I can even articulate them fully.
I take another bite of the jelly donut to give myself a second to think. “It’s just that…I like Zac.”
She nods as if she expected that. She knows that a girl would have to be crazy not to have feelings for Zac Maple. He’s big, bearded, and so very burly. That barrel chest. The way his stomach jiggles when he laughs. Those big, hairy knuckles and his strong hands.
“And I don’t want to get my heart broken,” I finish. I’m a coward, and I’m not sure what hurts worse: that I’m so scared, or that I’m admitting it to my best friend. Not that she would ever judge me. Sadie and I can talk about anything without judgement. Every girl needs a friend like her.
A dreamy look flits across her expression, and I know she’s thinking of Barrett. “What if he doesn’t break your heart? What if he heals you in ways you never even imagined?”
I hadn’t considered that one before. I’ve been so focused on how this could end badly that I never even stopped to consider what could happen if I let myself fall.
I’m still thinking about Sadie’s question two days later when I show up at Zac’s place for our interview. He answers the door wearing a faded flannel shirt. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his expression lights up the moment he sees me.
My heart skips a beat, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I shift from foot to foot.
“I’m here for the interview,” I say, like I didn’t confirm it with him this morning. He told me I was welcome anytime, but I wanted to finish my work at the newspaper before I came over.
He opens the door and gestures me into the house. I glance again at the formal dining room with the big table and six chairs. Will he have four kids one day? Does he want kids, or is the table for entertaining his brothers?
“Where do you want to set up?” I ask, forcing myself to stop wondering about Zac Maple’s future procreation plans. That would make a heck of an interview question.