Kiss To Forget (Blairwood University #2) - Anna B. Doe Page 0,5
all have to be.” I sigh, tired of this discussion.
“I want my friends to be happy. Is that so bad?”
“No, but I’m happy the way I am. Besides, Mr. Tuesday doesn’t have anything to do with my love life.”
Okay, that’s a lie.
He’s a part of the reason I don’t believe in that crap.
Not anymore.
When I finally drop Callie off at her boyfriend’s, I rush back to our dorm to quickly change, and then I’m hurrying out once again so I’m not late.
These days it seems like all I do is run this way or that, but I prefer it that way. As long as I keep my head down and stay on my schedule, I won’t have too much time to think about all the secrets that I keep piling up.
Once I get into the familiar neighborhood, one of the best in Blairwood and surrounding areas, I slow the car. Because, of course, he wants the best. He can afford it too.
I know I don’t have much of a choice. Not if I want to keep everybody happy.
Suck it up, buttercup.
Rolling my car to a stop in front of the familiar two-story colonial, I take one deep breath, putting all the shields I spent years building firmly in place. Since I spent the winter break in New York with my mother, I haven’t been here since last semester, but I knew he expected me today.
Here we go again.
Taking my bag from the passenger seat, I clench it tightly and get out of the car, not bothering to lock up. This is too nice of a neighborhood for anybody to try and steal my piece of shit car, and I don’t want any obstacles in the way in case I need to flee.
If a big city teaches you anything, it’s to always be on the lookout and always have a way out.
Not letting my nerves get the better of me, I cross the distance toward the front door in a few long strides and ring the doorbell.
Then I wait.
My heart is beating loudly in my chest, my palms growing sweaty with nerves.
It’s always like this, no matter how many times I tell myself it doesn’t matter and that I don’t care. I don’t want to care, but a part of me that I buried deep inside still does no matter how much I try to pretend otherwise.
The footsteps behind the wooden door come closer; the lock turns, and the door slides open. I lift my gaze from his chest all the way to his eyes.
“Yasmin,” he says coolly.
“Coach Davies.”
His face turns grim, well, grimmer if that’s even possible. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy smile. Not that I actually care if he does or not.
“I thought we agreed you’d call me Jeremy.”
“No, that’s what you said, but I never agreed,” I correct, entering the house. The last thing I need is for somebody to see me come here. Not that I think there are many of my fellow students living around these parts, but you can never be sure.
Coach sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you always have to be so difficult?”
Not even bothering to turn to look at him, I walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. “I’m not one of your players, Coach. You can’t boss me around. Besides, you know exactly what you have to do in order for all of this to stop.”
The door closes, and he follows after me. “You know I can’t do that.”
“You won’t,” I correct him. “There’s a difference.”
“Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who came to me?”
His harsh words make me flinch. They sting, and he knows it. I hate the fact that I had to reach out to him, of all people, when I was at my lowest. And even more than that, I hate having it thrown in my face every time I see him. Hell, just having to see him is a slap to my pride, but there was no avoiding it. Not if I want to keep my secrets to myself.
“I’m sorry, I…” he starts, but I wave him off, not wanting to hear his apologies.
“Don’t. Just…” I suck in a breath, trying to collect myself. “Let’s get this over with.”
The silence that falls over us is deafening. The air in the room is filled with pent-up tension that seems to permeate the space. Or maybe it’s me who brings it every time I come; either way, I can’t