Breathe (Hollow Ridge #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,19

in. The admiration caresses me with hope, offering something no one in my position should take. Reaping the benefits of his home is one thing while taking advantage of his body is another.

I blush. Turning to him leaning against the doorjamb, I watch as he smiles. “The only bending backward that they’ll do involves them laughing. They’re not cool like you.”

His chuckle makes flutters rush my body, my palms perspiring along with it. I wipe them on the boyfriend jeans I’m wearing and pray he doesn’t think I’m being a dick, rather than my dry as gin humor.

“You’d be amazed at the affect you have on people,” he says softly, almost too low for me to hear him as he looks at the floor. He’s a charming sonofabitch. “Drive safe. If you need a ride or just someone to talk to, I’m only a phone call away.”

I eye him skeptically, wondering if he’s serious or if my jaded heart expects a string or twenty tied.

“I don’t—” I start, but before I can finish, he places his hand outward, gesturing to my pocket.

“Phone?”

Handing it to him, I watch as he types quickly before giving it back. “If, by chance, you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call.” When our focuses collide, he’s smirking, displaying his signature dimple. I’m melting like that green bitch in The Wizard of Oz. Trying not to laugh at myself for how odd my mind is, I offer a tentative smile.

“Thank you,” I barely muster, feeling many things, though none of them acceptable. Especially when his daughter is my friend and three rooms down. As I walk away, I check my phone before pocketing it.

Mon Roméo.

My Romeo.

That’s what he put in my phone.

I’ve been called stupid on many occasions, but this won’t be one of those times.

Chapter Eight

The Day Before

Joey

As soon as I arrive at my dad’s, I’m a ball of sick and nervous energy. This can’t go well. Especially when Marsha’s here. My fingers stumble over the gate code, reminding me that the worst he can say is no.

But where does that leave me?

Homeless.

Jobless.

Worthless.

Swallowing the bile slowly rising from anxiety, I wait as the gates open. My car glides in as I allow it to coast. Parked only ten feet from the entrance, I debate whether I can survive this or not. Can I? Will I accomplish anything at this point?

Why didn’t I save more money? Usually, I’m one to plan so far ahead that my plans have plans. This time, though, I didn’t think it through. My loyalty to Wes was double his to me, if not triple. He betrayed me, my trust, and made me believe a backup plan wasn’t necessary.

Guess when it comes to love, I’m flawed.

“Josephine,” Marsha calls out as I make my way to the front door. She opens it before I get the chance, but that’s just like her, wanting the upper hand on everything. “You’re late.”

“I’m on time,” I argue.

“If you’re not early, you’re late,” she reprimands, a conniving smile on her face. It makes her face appear uglier. If not for her polarizing attitude and degrading humor, she’d be beautiful. Marsha has that politician wife look. Her hair is always pinned up. She’s twenty-seven, blonde, and tenacious as hell. It’s not a far reach that she went for my father, and he fell for it. When you’re lonely and suffering unspeakable loss, it’s easy to fall into the venomous trap of a black widow.

“Come, come.” She ushers me inside like a dog, or a doormat, or in this case both. I stare at the walls. It’s a routine, especially since I only visit every once in a while. The pictures have changed again. Almost every single one of Mom and me is gone. There’s only one left of Dad and me. Graduation. It’s sad, seeing how these pictures are plastered all over like a memorial.

Here lies Josephine. She’s not dead... just non-existent.

Dad sits at the dinner table with his newspaper in hand and his mood unreadable. Our relationship is as stagnant as this silent air. If I didn’t remind myself to breathe, the darkness would take me, and it’s not looking too unwelcoming right now. He grips the paper when he hears Marsha’s heels hit the tile floor, and I try to not smile. In his world of politics where he has to pretend to be happy and in love, he can lie. But here, where no one is around but her and me, he

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