of his social status. They’ve probably seen his Instagram account where he’s posted some pictures of us. Everyone thinks we’re an item, and here I am dressed for the role of hot girlfriend in leggings, Chucks, and a baggy Welcome to Pawnee, Indiana sweatshirt. My hair is in a messy bun, and all the makeup I had time for was a swipe of Midnight Madness red lipstick. The name is fitting since I barely slept last night, tossing and turning with dreams of Z and my dad.
They’re probably wondering who the hell I am and how I got him. I grimace. I get it; he’s a thoroughbred and I’m a mixed breed, short-haired pony.
Whatever.
I push thoughts of him down deep as I trudge through the early morning crowd toward the law building. My anger builds with each step. He was all into me and now nothing?
A male voice calls my name from behind me and I keep on trucking. Bennett. I’d know that deep voice anywhere.
“Wait! Sugar!”
Nope. I throw a glance over my shoulder, and he’s moving at a full jog on the sidewalk now, brushing past co-eds with his backpack as he runs.
Everyone is staring at him and then looking at me, and I know him well enough to know he’ll just keep calling my name until I stop. Determination is the one common denominator he and Z share. Outside of that, they are completely different.
I stalk over to a bench near an oak tree and wait.
He slows his pace, a smile crossing his handsome face as he approaches. He’s wearing jeans and a Violent Femmes shirt I bought him, showcasing his tattoos. Mostly roses and skulls, I’m surprised to realize he’s never really told me what they mean—unlike Z.
His hair flows back from his face, deep with color and wavy, brushing the sides of his chiseled jawline. Damn. The man is fine. But like my mama used to say, He’s a pretty turd in the punchbowl.
My shoulders go back when he stops in front of me but I don’t return his smile.
“Hey.” He eases his backpack down to the ground and leans in to give me a hug—a super awkward hug that I don’t want, but part of me gives in because, well, we’re in public and we did spend two years together.
I stare up at him and he looks back, a soft expression in his eyes.
I sigh. “Hey. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” He huffs out a laugh and looks up at the sky. “I wanted to see if you got the daisies.”
Daisies…oh. I nearly forgot. I think about them back in my dorm room, collecting dust.
“I don’t recall us ever having a conversation about daisies.” I arch my brow, curious as to why he keeps sending them.
He shrugs, calling attention to his broad shoulders, which I see are without a jacket today even though it’s cold. His biceps look bigger and firmer too, as if he’s been working out.
He laughs. “We went to the flower market one weekend, and you kept looking at them.”
I tilt my head, truly curious now. Is it possible that for two years, he never really knew me? “But you never asked if they were my favorite.”
He frowns. “I know you better than you know yourself, Sugar.”
He does not know me! Betrayal churns, that familiar feeling I get when I picture him in that car. “I’m not a daisy kind of girl, actually.”
“Oh?” He brushes at a stray hair that’s come loose from my ponytail and tucks it behind my ear. “What flower is your favorite?”
I frown. “I don’t know.”
“See!”
I shake my head. “Maybe I don’t like flowers at all. Maybe I’m a love note person. Maybe I like diamonds instead.”
I didn’t mean to say that last part, about diamonds, but his face brightens. “Do you want to get serious, Sugar? Are you asking for a ring?”
WHAT? I feel myself recoiling.
“No.”
He pauses. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you. You’re grouchy. Are you PMSing?”
I sigh at his obliviousness. “Bennett, it’s not me who’s wrong. It’s you. Yeah, maybe we weren’t right for each other and that’s what pushed you to have sex with that girl, but we…we are over.”
His expression grows earnest as he comes closer to me until there’s only a hair’s breadth between us. “We didn’t go all the way. If you’d give me a chance to explain—”
“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see? There is no hardline definition of what cheating is to me. You. Were. With. Her.”