Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“What?” He paused, thrown by my question.
Oh, my god, I was all over the place and my head was chaos. This was the most important thing to focus on right now?
“Last time I saw you, you told me you don’t date, but the girl in there . . .”
His gaze shifted away. “Yeah, well, that was a while ago. Things have changed since then.”
Had they?
He didn’t seem that different from the last time I’d seen him. His hair was a little shorter, and maybe he looked a tiny bit more mature, but otherwise he was the same guy from before—the one who’d ruined kissing for me and then callously proclaimed I was too much of a good girl for him.
The sting of it had lingered over the last year, but today? God, it was extra sharp. At least the discomfort from thinking about it got me moving. I ducked into the passenger seat, let him close the door behind me, and watched as he quickly rounded the back of the car before slipping in behind the wheel.
We didn’t say anything as we buckled our seat belts. Once he started the engine, the sound system came to life and the podcast he’d been listening to blared from the speakers. He turned it off quickly, but not before I caught the gist of it.
The woman had been talking about finding sales leads.
My mind was too jumbled to focus on that. All I wanted right now was to put some space between me and what my mom had said, and the tightness in my shoulders eased a little when he backed out of the parking space then headed for the highway.
With the sound system shut off, it meant we rode in total silence. It should have been uncomfortable, but for some reason, it wasn’t.
And as the seconds ticked by, I appreciated his patience. Preston didn’t ask or pry. It was like he knew I needed some time to think about what I was going to do.
I turned to gaze out the window and watched the landscape drift by. I’d gone out tonight thinking my future was written, and that was still true—more or less. But I was struggling to deal with the idea that I wasn’t the one who got to write it.
I swallowed a breath and turned my attention back to the man seated beside me.
He had a hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel and a focused look on his face as he watched the road. Had he dressed up for his date tonight? Put in effort to look good? Because he did. His short-sleeve button-down shirt was fitted across his chest, and he wore slacks instead of jeans.
He looked even more like a man, and less like the boy I’d once crushed over.
I’d gotten so mad at my mom that some of that anger spilled into other places. I didn’t know the pretty girl he’d shown up with. She could have been a nice person, but it didn’t matter. I was jealous.
So, I kind of hated her.
“How much of that conversation did you hear?” I asked it quietly and not accusatory.
He shifted subtly in his seat, and I got the sense he was relieved I finally wanted to talk. “Just the end, I guess.” He sounded curious. “You want to go to culinary school?”
“Yeah.” I tangled my fingers together and dropped them into my lap, trying to figure out how to explain. “I’ve known for forever I want to become a chef, but my parents don’t want to hear it. They were convinced it was just a phase I’d grow out of. So, back when I was still in high school, we made a deal. I had to be good and give college the ‘ol’ college try.’ If I still wanted to be a chef after two years, they promised to send me to culinary school.”
His gaze darted to me for a moment. “Now they want to change it?”
I nodded. God, I wasn’t just angry at them, but also at myself. I hadn’t seen my parents’ betrayal coming, which was massively stupid on my part.
They’d done it before.
“She said two years wasn’t enough,” the words tasted bitter in my mouth, “that I barely got the college experience.” I clenched my jaw. “She has no idea what she’s talking about.”
I’d gotten the quintessential college experience, both in and out of the classroom. I’d sat in lecture halls and listened to useless information I knew I’d never use, and I drank too much with friends at house parties. I’d shared a microscopic dorm room with a stranger who seemingly never left to go anywhere, and I’d walked all over campus, no matter the weather, to make it to class.
“You don’t like Vanderbilt?” he asked.
“I like it fine, but it’s not what I want. Honestly, it feels like it’s just a waste of my time—and their money.” I drew in a heavy breath. “I’m pretty sure they made that deal with no intention of honoring it. This new offer she’s dangling? It’s just as worthless. I could gut it out for another two years, cross into the endzone, and they’ll just move the goalposts again.”