Page 161 of Finding Hope

I didn’t consent to a photoshoot.

They’re pictures I’ve loaded to my private social media profiles over the years. Candids of me and the girls during our college years.

Fortunately for me, the pictures tend to be flattering. I survived my teens and early twenties without a single drunk-girl-panty-flashing photo being loaded and tagged.

No, the photos are fine, but thehashtag… that definitely took me by surprise.

I told Steph we would never compete, but Jack’s legions of diehard fans never got the memo. There are two distinct trends this week:#TeamStephand#TeamBritt.

Ouch.

Who the fuck has enough time that they not only think this shit up, but then they get it trending? Why do people care so damn much about his private life? And why are they voting one way or the other?

Steph can’t claim her crown!

My phone vibrates in my lap, and sighing, I drop sad eyes to the lit screen.

Jack.

Again.

I miss you.

God, I miss him, too.

Jack:Can we hang out tonight? Just me and you. Please.

My heart sayshell yes.I’d die to be with him again. I want what wehad back; the easy flirtation, the laughs, the sweet kisses. But my teary eyes sayno way will I let him see me cry.

Me:I can’t tonight.

Jack:Bambie…

It’s like I can literallyfeelhis frustration.

Me:I have to work.

Jack:Tomorrow.

It’s like there’s another Britt inside me. She’s screaming to be let out; she’s screamingyes, yes, yes!and hoping Jack will hear her.

But she doesn’t understand Jack’s only looking for a temporary yes. He can’t give us what we so desperately want. What weneed.

Me:Tomorrow?

Jack:A date. Tomorrow night.

Hotdogs and music at the lookout. Hell yes.

Jack:Wear something nice, we’ll go out to a proper dinner.

Sigh.

Me:Okay.

Jack:Yeah? Okay! I’ll pick you up like a real date. Seven?

Me:Alright.

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