Page 121 of Tell Me When It's Over

Gives me the chance.

“I know I’m asking a lot from you,” I offer her softly, watching as she peeks at me through her thick lashes. “And I know that I’m asking you to make a lot more sacrifices than me, but I hope you say yes to this.”

“What exactly is it I’m saying yes to?”

A slow smile stretches across my face that I have to try toning down. “To being mine.”

Her lashes flutter. “Haven’t I always been?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Leighton / Present Day

There are two girls whispering to each other as I walk from my last class, one of them glaring at me, the other elbowing her and giggling. It’s been happening all day, except most people try pretending like they aren’t leering in my direction. These two don’t care.

I walk quickly past them and turn the corner, beelining toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, when I stumble into a small body that nearly knocks us both down. “I’m so sor—”

“Leighton?”

After regaining my balance, I stare wide-eyed at a familiar face, sans thick glasses and long dark hair. Nora Ashby looks nothing like she did at Saint Michael’s. Her hair is a caramel blonde, she’s wearing the kind of makeup that Mom used to, and her clothes are form-fitting and highlight her much leaner body.

She laughs, quickly pulling my surprised, frozen body in for a hug. “I knew that was you. I still see pictures of you online. Some things don’t change, huh?”

I blush over how untrue that statement is given the development in my life over the past couple of weeks. “Do you go here?” I ask, sure I’ve never seen her on campus before. I tend to walk with my head down to avoid days like today though, so it’s likely I’ve missed her.

She readjusts the purse strap on her shoulder attached to an expensive bag that’s bigger than my head. I recognize the designer because Mia has a collection of the same ones. “I actually go to Stanford. I’m just visiting somebody today.”

Stanford. I swallow, slowly nodding, as a rise of something thick fills my throat. I know Nora mentioned her interest in the university, but she’d also been looking into other ones around the country she seemed more interested in. I didn’t realize she’d ever decided on going to the college I’d always pictured myself at some day. “That’s…wow. Congratulations.”

Her beaming smile is full of pride. “It took a lot of work, but I ended up getting the top spot in our class. Striker and—” She pauses, wincing, and waving a manicured hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, the only real reason I got a full ride is because you left.”

I glance away, trying not to hide the way my lips waver downward at the reminder. I’d never gotten around to explaining to her what happened, not that it mattered. The press did that for me in a much cruder way. Everyone I used to know at Saint Michael’s knew I was kicked out, and I’m sure plenty of them were happy considering I was still the “wannabe Bishop” in their eyes.

“Do you go here?” she prods, arms crossed over her chest. “I heard you were back in town, but you never reached out. You’re back with the Bishops, right? I’ve been seeing pictures of you and Kyler everywhere.”

Kyler has made it his job to take me to and from classes, and his car has popped up on numerous social media pages. Nobody can tell it’s him, thanks to his tinted windows, but it’s always me either getting in or out of the passenger side. The story attached is the same every time: Where is Chase Matthews?

My face reddens even deeper, heat creeping up

the back of my neck as I brush off the posts I’ve seen lately.

I could feel bad that I didn’t try harder to reach out to Nora when I was back, but she could have done the same if she were interested. I’ve been too focused trying to get settled back in to worry about other things. “I study PR here,” I tell her eventually, offering a small smile. “It’s no Stanford, but I like it.”

Her nod is slow as she studies me, eyes roaming up and down the front of me. “Well, that’s good. You always wanted to do that.”

We stand in awkward silence, people skirting around us to get by.

I shift on my feet. “Do you still talk to Striker or anyone?” Because of Striker, I know she used to talk to Beckham. They were never close, but I can’t help but wonder if they’d talked more after I’d left Saint Michel’s.

She shrugs. “Striker will text me sometimes if he’s looking for a hookup, but that’s about it. I’ve made my own friends on campus.”

My brows go up. “You and Striker…?”

Her eyes roll. “Junior year. We dated on and off, but he was graduating, so it never stayed on for long. If I’m bored, I’ll meet with him.”

“Oh.”

She hums. “So, you and Garrick Matthew’s little brother? Or is that over? It’s hard to keep up with the headlines.” Her clipped tone makes my eyes widen slightly.

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