My Dad's College Friends - Cassandra Dee Page 0,34

be sick. This can’t be happening. Galen is engaged to me. Why is he posting on Instagram about proposing to Paula?

Vomit swirls in my stomach and a sour taste rises in the back of my throat. Galen never even posted a photo of us when we got engaged. He said it was because he could lose modelling jobs or some other vague excuse.

That obviously wasn’t the truth. Plus, I notice a familiar-looking arch of flowers, and swallow hard again. This photo was taken on the rooftop of Lombardi’s, a restaurant in Little Italy near where Galen lives. He took me there on our first date. It was our place, or so I thought.

Comments flood the feed, congratulating the happy couple. They say things along the lines of “Beautiful couple!” and “Congratulations on your big announcement!” Anger courses through me. I look at the diamond on my finger. Does it even mean anything?

I jump up from the couch, grab my purse, and head for the door. I need to get to the bottom of this. This is such a sick joke, and nausea makes me heady, but there’s no time to waste.

After all, this is a huge misunderstanding. And if it isn’t, I’ll have to kill Galen and my so-called friend, Paula.

* * *

To be continued …

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Sneak Peek: The Neighbor Next Door

Janie

Both Janie and her mom have a crush on their gorgeous neighbor next door.

* * *

I just about manage to save my cookies from their charred fate.

“It’s not like you to burn stuff, Janie,” manages my mom Vivian through pursed lips as she applies lipstick, staring in her pocket mirror. “What were you doing up there?”

I dig the spatula under each cookie, piling them into a large, colorful cookie jar.

“I was browsing through men on a dating website,” is my sarcastic reply, even if it’s the truth.

“Don’t be salty with me, young lady,” Vivian raises her eyebrow while scrutinizing her perfectly done make-up. “What were you really doing?”

I sigh. What’s the point of all this? Instead, I go with the unobjectionable answer.

“Homework,” is my mumble.

My mom perks up.

“Well, Chris will be here soon,” replies Vivian. Of course, sometimes I feel like what I say doesn’t matter at all because she’s not listening.

“Chris? Why?” I ask, astonished. Chris is Vivian’s third husband. Or ex-husband, I should say. They got divorced a few months ago and I hadn’t seen him since. Not that I minded, since he was a lech of the worst sort.

“None of your business!” says Vivian with a smirk. “Some of us have love lives, you know.” I bite my lip because my mom’s love life is out of control. She’s only in her thirties, and yet she’s been married and divorced three times. There has to be some sort of Olympic record for this, right?

But I just keep my composure.

“Never mind,” I mumble. “I’ll be upstairs doing homework,” I say before turning on my heel, taking the cookie jar upstairs with me.

“Don’t eat all of those, Janie!” Vivian calls warningly after me. “We have to keep ourselves attractive for the opposite sex!”

But snacking on my own baked goods while I read my romance novels is my favorite thing to do on a Friday night. I’m vaguely aware of how sad my peers would find this if they knew. But those straight A’s don’t get themselves: I study really hard all week, and mostly during the weekends as well. Friday nights are my own - where I get to put on my fairy lights, indulge in something new I’ve baked, curl up on my bed with my book, and shut out the world.

Of course I often get excited, reading those romance novels. There are loads of steamy sex scenes and they often leave me all hot and bothered, my heart fluttering, my panties wet, not knowing how to rid myself of the building pressure between my legs. I’ve heard of masturbation, of course, but I’ve never really figured out how it worked or what I’m meant to do. I can’t discuss these things with Vivian, and I don’t have any sisters or close friends to ask. And I’m too terrified someone might find my search history if I try to look it up online! So I’ve gotten used to letting the feeling pass. It does, eventually, even if I’m aching and horny still.

As I enjoy cookie after cookie, guilt-free and wrapped in the warm little fairy-lit world I’ve