Page 7 of College-Virgin & Dark Bully Next-Door

“I am breathing,” I mumble as she falls in line with me.

“Which is why it looks like you’re ready to explode. I’m going to loosen you up if it’s the last thing I do.”

She doesn’t give me a chance to reply, just tugs me toward a lounge chair by the pool. “Just stay here for a few minutes and give me a chance to show you how fun this can be, okay?”

I try to cling to her even as she leaves. A few guys walk by, and I pull a pillow in front of me, wrapping my legs and arms around it as if it could save me. My springy blonde hair isn’t going to do the job, even if it’s mermaid-level long – meaning I could probably go topless, and no one could see but even knowing that doesn’t help here.

Bonnie’s standing by the makeshift juice bar, her elbows resting on the counter as she talks to an old fling. She bites her full bottom lip as he flirts with her, his hand caressing her arm. Knowing my best friend, they’re probably making plans to hook up when the party’s over.

The bartender slides two cups toward her. She takes them and offers her cheek for the guy to kiss before she sweeps herself away and comes to me. With an arched eyebrow, I stare at the cup she’s offering me.

“It’s not alcohol. I know you’re a prude,” she says.

I shove her gently. “Just because I didn’t give it up in high school doesn’t mean I’m a prude.”

She scrunches her lips at me. “One, I meant alcohol. Two, you took yourself out of the game, gorgeous.”

“Really? I don’t think anyone’s starting a line to date me.” I snort, clutching the pillow tighter.

“Well, why would they when the sign says “closed” in all caps?” She says. “Are you honestly telling me that if you made eye contact with any of these guys here, they’d turn around and walk away?”

“Not now.” I shake my head. “Not when I’ve lost all this weight.”

Bonnie sits up, giving me a stare that reminds me of the time Dad caught me in the cookie jar when I was eight years old. “Let me remind you, you were still fabulous with the weight. Your confidence was another story. It still is.”

“What are you talking about? I’m confident.”

“No, you’re sassy when you get pissed off. There’s a difference.”

“Okay, fine,” I concede. “I admit, I’m not great with boys. They’d come and talk, I’d forget how words work, end up talking about bugs, then they’d run – not walk.”

She takes a drink from her cup, then lounges next to me, trying to pull the pillow away until she actually throws it across the deck. I keep trying to cover up.

A year ago, I finally shed my baby weight, and after wearing a new outfit to school and getting stares and some whispers, I decided it was a no go. The less attention I get, the better.

“Any guy would be lucky to be with you, Sky. You know that right?” she asks.

“And you know that a man is not necessary for survival,” I remind.

She groans and falls back. “Uh-uh. I don’t know about that bit.”

I poke her. “I’m serious. In all species. Like there are spiders whoeatmales who approach them because it’s better. I don’t need a man to achieve my goals.”

“Needing and wanting are two different things. We cansurviveoff ramen noodles, but that’s not living. I want donuts, and I want cheeseburgers and pizza and all the other things in the world.”

“Sound logic, but I’m independent, and I love it.”

That’s true. It is. I remember seeing how my dad deteriorated after my mom left us. He became a shell of himself. He relied heavily on Chase and me—mostly me, since my brother lived five hours away on campus. With his help, I took care of the bills, ensured the house was kept clean, made the meals, did the laundry. I’ve lost count of how many times I had to force out of bed and make him go to work. It’s like the roles have been switched, and I hate it. The worst part … the absolute worst part was his missing smile.

Heneededmy mom. He told her that constantly, asked her how he’d ever survive without her and … and then he had to find out. I don’t want to be like that broken man, ruined by the person he loved most.

I can’t be the girl staring at a door, waiting for it to open so the one person Ineedwill walk back in. Because they won’t. I know that. Once a person leaves, they leave. Second chances only happen in movies, and I’m not about those kinds of feelings.

“Mhm. I know that look,” Bonnie cuts into my thoughts.

“What look?”

She folds her lips, staring at me like she’s debating what to say. “Okay, I’m only going to bring this up once …”

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