me—I’ve never met a more determined person—so I pull up the hem of my dress and jog, which isn’t such a bad idea anyway considering it’s cold as hell. I’m insane to be running barefoot across a street in Minnesota at the end of January with no jacket on. Thank goodness we’re having unnaturally warm weather, a balmy thirty-three degrees. My feet are chunks of ice as I reach my truck, crawl inside, and crank it up. I sit here, my head resting against the steering wheel, letting the heat kick in before I take off.
My throat feels tight and I want to cry, but I clench my fists, determined to not give in.
Z and I just blew up at each other.
Why?
What the hell just happened?
Why are we so combustible?
Why am I so upset?
Why do I want to go back to him and see where we went wrong?
You can’t, my inner voice says, and I hunch over. I think about the girls there tonight, the ones I can’t compete with. What if…what if I fall for him?
Fuck.
A tear courses down my face, and I grimace as more fall. Wetness tracks down my cheeks, and I close my eyes and put my face in the stream of hot air that’s blowing from the dash.
After a few seconds, I gather myself together and pull out onto the street. Not wanting to go back to my dismal dorm, I end up driving around Lake Sparrow. I contemplate checking in with Mara, but she’s in work mode at this hour and I don’t want to bug her. Taylor and Poppy…I could call them, but they each had their own thing to do tonight. When midnight looms, I run through the drive-through at the all-night Krispy Kreme—sorry to cheat on you, Joaquin—and go back to the dorm. I could have bought extras earlier when I picked up Eric’s, but I didn’t think about it. I guess I’m jonesing for donuts because I’m sad. Ugh. Someday, I’m going to have to cut back on my treats, but not today. Not today.
I park illegally, near the inner circle where people walk, because I’m shoeless. I drift in through the front door of the lobby and it’s mostly quiet, thank goodness. I don’t want anyone to see what a mess I am right now. The girl behind the desk arches a brow when I pass by and then calls my name.
“Hey, you’re Sugar, right, in 412?”
I plod back over to her. “Yeah?”
She picks up a small vase of daisies and sets them on the counter. I blink down at them and look at her. It’s the third one in a month.
She shrugs. “No card, but a really hot guy with dark hair dropped them off for you. He said he was your boyfriend and wanted to come up to your room, but well, it’s past visiting hours and all, although I was tempted. He’s hot. Nice catch there.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my ex.”
“Okay.” She shrugs and goes back to her desk.
I exhale and pick up the vase. Fucking Bennett. Now I have two things to carry upstairs. “Thanks.”
I take off for the steps, my feet heavy as I climb the flights up to my floor. Periodically, I pause and look down at the white and yellow flowers.
I glare down at them. Daisies. They aren’t even my favorite, but he always got them for me because he liked them. “They’re glorified weeds,” I say to no one and keep walking. “If you would have just listened to me, Bennett, you’d know I don’t care for pale flowers with no soul.”
Maybe Julia will like them.
Once inside my room, I see that she’s gone. Typical. I set down the bag of sugary fried dough and flowers, glad I have my entire dorm room to myself.
I yank open my dresser to pull out a Boobie Bungalow pink tank and a pair of booty shorts. For once the stupid radiator in the room seems to be working, but there’s no valve so it’s hot as heck. Once the torn dress is off and hung up nice and neat, I pull out a half-full bottle of Grey Goose from the top shelf in my closet and pour a few inches into a plastic cup. From the fridge, I pull out a club soda and a lime. When you’re a girl dealing with a cheating ex and a creaky old dorm room, these are basic tools of survival.