Page 5 of Along Comes Trouble

TESSA

W hat’s betterthan spending a fall afternoon with my Kindle while sitting on my back porch, wearing my fuzziest pajamas and warmest socks? Any other day, my answer would be nothing, especially given the jaw-dropping beauty surrounding me. Between the rich colors of the leaves and the golden cast to the light, everything looks warm, despite the bite to the air. Add a warm cup of hot chocolate and it should be everything I need to get lost in a book .

The optimal word here is should .

When this book first came out, the reading world exploded with excitement. Five-star reviews lining up like little sparkling soldiers. A spot high on the New York Times Bestsellers list. For me, it hasn’t come close to living up to the hype. It’s identical to every other book I’ve read recently. Everything is just a cheap copy of something else nowadays. Or maybe it’s less about the rest of the world and more about me. Maybe I need to step out of my comfort zone. Find a new author. Try a new genre. Find something fresh and new to break up the steady diet of the same old stuff I’ve been feeding myself .

I haven’t gotten through more than a paragraph at a time because my thoughts keep drifting off and I find myself staring at the bits of sky visible through the leaves. Light filters through, falling in lace-like patterns to the ground. They shimmer and twist as the breeze dances through the trees. It’s beautiful .

I only have to catch myself daydreaming a few times before I power down my Kindle and opt for my phone. If I’m not going to get any reading done, I might as well bug Sarah until she gets too drunk or distracted to respond. She’s the type of person who lives the wild and exciting life I like to sit at home in my pajamas and read about .

We’re so different, it’s crazy we managed to create a friendship at all, but when we met we connected instantly. It’s baffled the two of us more than once. On paper, we should drive each other crazy, but in real life, our differences work for us instead of against us .

She’s the yin to my yang .

The peanut butter to my jelly .

The macaroni to my cheese .

There’s no understanding why we get along so well; we just do .

Maybe it’s her differences that attract me to her. In the same way I can’t find a book because I’ve read so much of the same thing over and over, maybe Sarah is spicy enough to add some much needed flavor to my life. I’ve done nothing but work my butt off since I graduated high school. College was a blur of hard work and appropriate decisions. (Thank you, Dad for being the voice of reason in my head when faced with a night of drinking versus a night of studying.) Sarah is nothing but fun and maybe I’ve earned a little of that now that I’m out in the world, finding my way. My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts .

Sarah: You really didn’t like my brother very much, did you ?

The question takes me by surprise and I tap out a carefully neutral response .

Me: We didn’t really talk enough for me to form an opinion .

I picture his dark eyes, flashing at me from under the brim of his hat. The little tufts of hair—not black like his sister’s, but more like the color of my hot chocolate—curling at the nape of his neck. The blue Henley, accentuating his strong build and the way he strutted around like he knew how good he looked in it. The ridiculous truck with the even more ridiculous tires. And then, the coup de grace, the little glimmer of delight in his eyes when he told his niece to lie to her parents about getting donuts before school. My phone buzzes again .

Sarah: You have to admit, he’s easy on the eyes, right ?

That right there is yet another strange question. I mean, sure, Colton is good looking, but why would his sister care? Maybe she’s proud of his good looks? As an only child, I don’t know how this sibling stuff works. I decide to answer honestly because Sarah’s not the kind of person who wants all the weird social pretenses. She is who she is and can smell a line of bullshit a mile away. She’d never let me get away with anything less than the truth .

Me: Sure. He might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen. If he wasn’t such a jerk, I’d be all over him like honey on a biscuit. Like butter on toast. Like a teenage boy on prom night. But man, you were right. He is one hell of an irreverent asshole .

I smile at myself as I hit send. Would I have been able to say any of that in person? Hell, no. It’s so much easier being myself when I don’t have to watch people judge me. God bless technological advances, liberating introverts worldwide .

I shiver as a breeze rustles the trees and a few scarlet leaves see-saw their way to the ground. Even in my fleece pajamas and warm socks, I’m halfway past uncomfortable. It’s time to go inside because my poor South Carolinian blood doesn’t know what to do with what I consider winter-like temperatures in the middle of October. I’m almost afraid to experience February in Ohio .

My phone buzzes as I pull open the sliding glass door and step into my apartment .

Sarah: Maybe I only seem like an asshole because you’re such a stuck-up bitch .

I pause, heat rushing across my cheeks .

Me: Huh? I was talking about Colton .

Sarah: I know .

Did I totally misjudge the situation? Sarah’s been so quick to call her brother an asshole, I just assumed it was fine for me to say it, too. Although on second thought, that was awfully presumptuous of me. I start to formulate and apology, but a new text interrupts me .

Sarah: This is Colton. I stole Sarah’s phone because I thought I wanted to get to know you. But I make it a habit to avoid stuck-up bitches .

I stare at the words in horror and read them until my eyes burn. How long have I been talking to Colton? I reread what I wrote about him and tears wobble and waver through my vision. Never in a million years would I have said any of those things if I had known he would read them .

What a cruel, juvenile trick. I was right about him all along. Colton Carmichael is narcissistic and cocky and obviously enjoys watching women make fools of themselves over his good looks. His very own sister said as much .

My phone buzzes and I finally blink. I take a breath, anger shaking through my hands. I’m perfectly capable of embarrassing myself, thank you very much. I manage to do it all the time. I don’t need other people piling on and helping out. Without bothering to read the text, I formulate a response, my fingers fly across the screen .

Me: Not cool, Colton. Not cool at all. Do me a favor and lose my number .

And with that, I power down my phone and plop on the couch .

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