Page 9 of Sexting the Tattooed Outlaw
“You okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, glancing down. “Just not sure what to do with my hands. At work, I’m usually holding a coffee pitcher or a book.”
“You need a drink.”
“Good idea. That’ll give me something to hold with my hands.”
“No,” Nadia laughs. “Not for that reason. I mean, you need a drink so that you can loosen the hell up. Stop worrying about how you look or what to do with your hands!”
“Easier said than done,” I comment.
“Here,” Nadia says, pushing her untouched beer into my hand. “Have this. I’ll go get another for myself.”
“You’re leaving me here?” My eyes widen as she begins to walk away.
“Kay, I know it’s your first time in a bar but please. Try to relax! You need this. Youdeservethis. After the way Douglas treated you…”
Ugh. Douglas. My ex-boyfriend who treated me like dirt.
Actually, he treated me like an ATM. Eventually, he figured out that I don’t have direct access to my parents’ bank account,and that my ‘cute little coffeeshop thing’ was a real job that I worked hard at.
That’s when he dumped me like I was yesterday’s garbage.
Now I’ve sworn off men. At least, any man from Wild Bronco.
If I ever date again, it’ll be some guy from the other side of the country who has never evenheardof Wild Bronco. Someone who doesn’t care that my last name is Beaumont.
Being born into a rich family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Yes, I’ve never lacked food or a roof over my head. For that I’m grateful.
But it was isolating. It’s not like I was some kind of beauty queen. I was a chubby dork with glasses, braces, and acne. What happens when the rich girl isn’t conventionally beautiful and popular, like she usually is in the movies?
She gets bullied twice as much, that’s what.
I think of Sam. Part of why we connected so well when we were younger, is because he was also an outcast.
Oh sure, he was good looking. And he had that bad boy thing going for him. All of the girls chased him…but they treated him more like a plaything than like a real person. I never realized that girls objectified boys in the same way boys objectified girls…but it’s real.
Sam was used, played with, treated like a prop and a weapon to piss off ex-boyfriends and overprotective fathers.
And then once his usefulness ran out, he was dropped like a hot potato.
Kind of like me.
Even though we never dated, I always felt like I understood him the best. I saw beneath the bad boy exterior. I saw the guy who was hurt, felt left behind and forgotten by the people who were meant to love him best.
My parents took him in, and I anticipated he might stay for a week or two. Long enough for things to cool off at his house.His mom always seemed to have a new boyfriend, and the latest boyfriend didn’t like him.
But Sam stayed longer than a week or two. He stayed for two years. Two long, agonizing years of growing closer to him at home, while being distant at school.
He’d smile and wave at me in the hallways, of course.
But never more than that.
I used to wonder why he didn’t sit at lunch with me, when the night before we’d been up late playing Mario Kart and eating pizza.
It took a while for me to realize: He didn’t want to be seen with me. He was embarrassed of me.
I look around Blue Horse. The crowd is a mix of familiar faces and new ones. My eyes scan them until they stop abruptly, landing on an unpleasantly familiar one, the guy who is thelast manI want to see tonight.
