Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 118136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
I stuffed my hands into my back pockets, smiling awkwardly as April paced toward me, her expression hooded. Now I had an entire new set of worries to obsess over. Had she heard me speaking? That could ruin everything.
“Naughty Knight?” She tapped her lips.
I nodded. She rolled her eyes as she approached me, looping her arm over my shoulders and walking me to the door. I let out a relived sigh. She hadn’t heard.
“Why is the asshole calling you? Can’t he take a goddamn hint? Jesus. What a douche canoe.”
Of course, I did not correct her assumption, because explaining to her how I was a selective mute would require me to also tell her what had happened. Tell her about Val. And that wasn’t a story I was keen on telling. We went back into the club, and as soon as April spotted Ryan and Josh, she shoved me into the latter’s arms, jumping on Ryan and wrapping her arms around his neck as she awarded him with a wet kiss. I fell into Josh’s hands. As always, he caught me.
In the car, Josh glanced at me. His eyes told me April had given him the rundown. I liked April, but I hated the way she butted into my business.
“I know you said Knight is the one, and I respect that,” he signed. “But would you ever give me a chance to try to be that other one? The second big love? The one you end up marrying? Because I’d like to apply.”
I wondered how much of it was him wanting me, and how much of it was him finally finding someone like him. The same age. Who liked the same bands and studied at the same school. Of the same heritage—more or less—who spoke sign language.
We had everything going for us, other than one thing: our hearts.
I squeezed his hand, biting my lip in answer.
He knew.
Three nights after the phone call with Knight, I was lying in bed, doing my usual Instagram routine to look for pictures of him. There were none. Maybe he didn’t go to parties anymore? The prospect made me physically sick. For all my jealousy, I wanted him to have fun. I wanted him to be happy and meet girls and get over me. Because even if I didn’t get over him, I desperately cared for his wellbeing.
When I came up empty-handed, I decided to log into Poppy’s profile. I didn’t expect to see much. I wanted to count the Likes on that kissing picture and cheer up when I thought about the amount of money they had collected for Rosie’s cystic fibrosis foundation.
Poppy had posted four new pictures since the one that broke my heart. Three of them accordion-related, and of no importance to me. It was the last image that gave me pause. I clicked on it. She’d tagged a restaurant in La Jolla. It was of a giant milkshake with chocolate-covered pretzels, an entire donut, an enlarged Tim Tam to use as a straw, and three different ice cream scoops mounted on the glass. Next to the milkshake, was something that made my heart beat faster. Car keys.
Aston Martin car keys.
A distinctive Aston Martin car key, with a keychain that said My Favorite People Call Me Daddy, something Knight had found in Dean’s drawer and thought it’d be funny to use.
Had Knight taken Poppy on a date? It was easier to tell myself they were hanging out with more people, but why wouldn’t he go out with her? He’d said to leave him alone. That he wanted some space. This was perfect. She was perfect.
I knew it would drive me mad to think about it, so I chose not to. I threw off my covers and padded to my desk. Not, God forbid, to my typewriter, which was still untouched, but to my MacBook. Briefly, I wondered if something, or someone, would ever give me the courage to pick up a pen and write. I did write essays and short stories for school, but I never wrote anything I didn’t absolutely need to.
I opened my search bar and Googled the one name that always sucked me into a black hole and made me forget. The perfect diversion from Knight.
Valenciana Vasquez.
I hit enter, sat back, watched the results roll in neatly, and started to dig.
Footsteps thudded in the hall, and I stretched in the large bed, nudging the woman sleeping on my chest to wake up.
“Your husband’s back. Pretty sure he won’t be so happy to see a stud like me in his bed.”
Mom looked up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She swatted my chest, then coughed. “Hide. I wouldn’t mess with him.”
“I wouldn’t mess with me.”
I flexed my biceps behind her, and her coughs became loud barks that made me want to kill someone. Dad threw the door open, already untying his tie. He reached the bed, planted a kiss on Mom’s nose, and flicked the back of my head.