Page 124 of Things I Wish I Said
I’m standing with a group of guys from the team while Trent talks my ear off about his upcoming season at a local, Division 3 college. But I’m only half paying attention because I’m too damn focused on Sinclair and my former best friend while they share a private conversation that keeps her smiling the entire time.
She tips her head back and laughs, and the sound digs its nails into my back.
Or maybe that’s jealousy.
All I know is I’m replaying every single thing I ever said to her about loathing relationships and my disbelief in happy endings, hating myself a little more.
What could possibly be so fucking funny?
“Shit,” Trent hisses beside me.
I glance over at him, frowning at his stricken expression before I follow the trajectory of his gaze.
And then I see her.
Rachel O’Toole.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I hiss.
She’s coming this way, and I feel a brief wave of relief at the silence in my heart beneath the familiar swell of anger.
Cameron takes a minute out of his flirting with Sinclair to glance over his shoulder, and his face pales.
She’s still walking in our direction, and I curse under my breath as Cameron swivels back around. “Don’t look at me,” he says, eyes wide. “I sure as shit didn’t invite her.”
I turn my furious gaze on Trent, heart pounding against my fractured ribs.
“Dude. She’s a grade-A bitch. I would never.”
I curse my luck as she draws closer, suddenly hit with the urge to run. I’ve spent the better part of the year avoiding her. I’ve skipped football games and parties, school events, and even my senior prom in an effort to dodge her. And, okay, maybe I skipped those things because I was over it all. Because I had a good taste of what life is really like and the pain it can offer, and I was just done. But Rachel is literally the last person on the face of the planet I want to see tonight, and only a few yards stand between us.
“She’s looking this way,” Ryan says, and I groan.
Trent grunts. “I have to say, she might be an ice queen, but she’s a hot ice queen.”
I punch him in the arm.
“Ow!” he hisses.
I don’t care how hot she looks. Rachel O’Toole can wear all the tight, short red dresses she wants, and I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.
“Who is she?” Ryleigh asks, glancing between us.
Everyone falls silent, waiting to see what I’ll say.
The muscle in my jaw tightens. As much as I’d like to avoid an explanation, I know Sinclair won’t let it go without one. “Just an ex,” I mutter.
Sinclair blinks, a knowing in her eyes I don’t like. “She’s the one you dated for three years,” she says—a statement, not a question.
“That’s her, all right,” Cameron answers for me.
“When was the last time you talked to her?” Trent asks.
I cast him a dirty look. “When do you think?” I snap.
I haven’t spoken to her since she dumped my ass for inconveniencing her with a terminally ill father.
“From what Beth Anne says, she’s still into you,” Ryan adds.
