rather be stuck with. Sydney is my ride or die, which means, I’m on the hook for making breakfast.
“Eggs or pancakes,” I ask.
“Both!”
A chuckle slips free as I shake my head.
Why am I not surprised?
Sydney is an all or nothing kind of girl. And I wouldn’t have her any other way.
12
Demi
“Hey, Demi! Wait up!”
I stiffen, immediately recognizing the voice. Instead of slowing down, I tuck my chin against my chest and haul ass, hoping to lose him in the herd of students moving across campus like cattle. I’m not usually one to run and hide, but I’ll make an exception in this case.
“Demi!”
The voice grows louder, and I realize he’s closer than I had originally suspected.
Crappity...crap, crap, crap.
When a heavy hand lands on my shoulder, I silently acknowledge that escape isn’t in the cards for me this morning. A potent concoction of disbelief and anger shoots through me as I attempt to shrug him off. After finding Justin and Annica together Saturday night, he’s the last person I want touching me. Honestly, I’m a little surprised he has the nerve to seek me out in the first place. I had assumed by unspoken agreement we would avoid each other for the rest of the year.
“Justin.” Reluctantly I flick my gaze in his direction only to discover that his nose is bruised and swollen.
That’s new. It certainly wasn’t like that when I left the party. My brain whirls, silently trying to figure out what happened. Is there any truth to the rumors Sydney heard? Did Rowan get into a fight with Justin after I took off Saturday night?
He must notice where my attention is focused, because his fingers brush self-consciously over the battered flesh. Instead of acknowledging the injury, he asks instead, “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Not really.” I hasten my pace. “I have to get to class.”
Not taking no for an answer, he quickly says, “I’ll walk with you, and we can talk on the way.”
Awesome.
Thankfully, Corbin Hall looms on the horizon. If I speed walk, I can be there in five minutes, tops. The less interaction I have with Justin, the better off we’ll both be. After discovering his extracurricular activities, there’s nothing left to discuss.
“So,” he clears his throat when I remain stoically silent, “I wanted to apologize again for the other night.”
The guy is delusional if he thinks we’re going to brush this neatly under the carpet and move on. What happened wasn’t an accident. Any hope of us remaining friends has been obliterated. I don’t even want to look at him.
“You mean when I stumbled on you getting a blowie from Annica?”
He has the good grace to flinch at my blunt description. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“I’m over it.” I shrug, only wanting to move on with my morning and my life.
You know what the definition of insanity is?
Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.
The lesson I’ve learned from this experience is to steer clear of the athletes on campus. Maybe it’s unfair to paint them all with the same broad-brush stroke, but I’ve been burned too many times in the past. The guys around here have too many options available. Every men’s team at Western has their own set of jersey chasers, cleat sniffers, or puck bunnies.
I’m over the womanizing jocks. I’ve dated a couple different athletes throughout the years.
Luke, a hockey goalie.
Logan, a soccer midfielder.
Ashton, a breaststroker.
And Justin...a baseball pitcher.
And they’ve all turned out to be players.
In one regard, it’s nice to be with someone who understands the physical demands of playing a sport at a high level. There’s a dedication that other people can’t comprehend. But the cheating is the ugly side of it.
I’m officially tapping out.
Unaware of the thoughts circling through my head, Justin says, “I wanted to reach out yesterday, but I figured you needed time to cool off.”
Is he actually suggesting thirty-six hours is enough time to put his cheating into perspective and forgive him?
That’s not going to happen. In fact, the more I think about it, the angrier I get.
When I remain silent, lips pressed into a thin line, he continues. “I was hoping we could move past my,” there’s a pause, “lapse in judgement and work this out.”
He’s joking, right?
“I’m sorry?” My gaze jerks from the math building to Justin who remains tenaciously at my side. There’s no way I heard him correctly.
“I want to move forward with our relationship. We were really good together.” He gives