Page 1 of The Way We Are

Prologue

Dear Reader,

Just like Hugo’s book, I couldn’t represent the man Ryan is today without showing the man he used to be. To do that, we need to go back in time. Ryan’s story steps even further into the past than Hugo’s did. We’re going back over ten years, back to his teen days.

We learn who he is, and how he became the man he is.

It's a fun, emotion-packed ride.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Cheers

Shandi xx

1

Ryan

“Ryan!” booms into my ears, distracting me from the wildly wicked visual of Savannah Fontane, the prettiest and most entrancing girl at Lady Musket College, doing a double-triple-quadruple whatchamacallit flip on the rolled turf of her all-girls $100,000 a year school field.

No, I don’t attend an exclusive all-girls school. I also don’t have a nickel to my name, much less 100Gs to waste on schooling that's as worthless to me as tits on a bull. I’m just one of those regular high school weirdos who lurks in the shadows of highly sought-after Catholic schools hoping to get my rocks off. Have you seen how flexible cheerleaders are?Damn.If I had a nickel, I could bounce it off my dick just from the way Savannah has her knee curled around her head. Complete and unfettered access.

I’m joking—calm down!

I have a nickel. I’m just not gonna whip out my dick to prove my theory. I don’t want to get arrested...again.I only escaped a hefty probation after my last tussle with the law because my dad is a police officer. Has been since the day I could walk. Does that make him an upstanding member of society? Doubtful. He's as crooked as my buddy Chris’s bottom teeth.

“You gathering intel? Or memories for your spank bank?” Chris slaps my back three times before cranking open the rusty door of my badly-in-need-of-an-update truck to slip inside.

“A bit of both,” I reply with a cunning smirk. The spank bank material is of Savannah. The intel... that’s to take down the group of douchebags watching her dance routine with even more salaciously than I was.

Chris smiles before yanking his seatbelt into place. “Thanks for waiting for me. You know what Ms. Forrester is like.” After fastening the latch, he raises his hands in the air to smack his fingers against his thumbs, mimicking two ducks going to war.

Grinning at his accurate assessment of the head of our department, I run around my truck and slide into the driver’s seat.See, I’m not a total weirdo.I only crossed paths with Savannah today because my school parking lot backs onto the field her cheerleading practices are held on. Although I could have parked out the front to wait for Chris, I’m not a complete idiot. Two dozen scantily clad girls in tiny skirts and midriff tops bouncing around for an hour nonstop...

Okay, maybe I am a perv.

“You know you wouldn’t have to sit through Ms. Forrester’s infamous lectures if you stopped harassing the student teachers. ‘You are here to learn, not chase skirts,'" I quote, giving him the same lecture Ms. Forrester did when she caught him cornering a recently drafted student teacher in the art supplies room.

I can’t say I blame him. Hannah Monty is still technically in college, and the gleam in her eyes when she noticed Chris’s attention strengthens that admission. She was totally onboard with every suggestion he insinuated, even the part about them getting frisky in the supply closet. You can take a girl out of college, but you can't take college out of the girl.

Ms. Hannah’s eagerness has me reconsidering my decision not to attend college. A few years away from this shithole could be the best thing to ever happen to me.It can’t get any worse.

Don’t get me wrong, Ravenshoe is my hometown—always has been, always will be—but there are only so many times I can look at the same scenery and still see its beauty. Over time, everything looks ratted and used.Except Savannah. She’s like a fine wine. Keeps getting better with age.

I’ve known Savannah since I was four. Before her father’s investment capital skyrocketed his wealth to a level I can only dream of, she attended the same run-of-the-mill public school Chris and I are still attending. Although Savannah goes to a private school now, she looks like the same girl she’s always been. Big doe eyes, long wavy honey-colored hair, and a smile that warns she's not only sweet, she is also smart.

I've had a crush on Savannah for years. At one point, my crush was reciprocated. Seven minutes in heaven awarded me seven years in hell. Two years after our first kiss, Savannah’s life drastically changed. I’d like to say for the better, but since I’ve spotted her douchebag boyfriend’s car parked a few spaces down from mine, I’ll keep my opinions to myself.

Axel Monroe is the quarterback at an exclusive all-boys school in Hopeton, three-time state champion, and owner of a sleek new Chrysler Sebring convertible. He thinks his bright red sports car makes him masculine and tough. It doesn’t. Every football player in a two-hundred-mile radius knows he’s compensating for his less-than-stellar assets. The locker rooms get cold in winter, but not cold enough your dick looks like a half-chewed walnut.

I honestly don’t know what Savannah sees in him. She doesn’t need his money or popularity—she has both of them in abundance—but no matter how low Axel’s antics scrape the barrel, Savannah stands at his side, supporting him. I sound like I’m jealous, like I’m peeved a dickwank with a bag of nuts for a crotch stole the girl of my dreams out from under me, but that isn’t the case.

Axel isn’t the right man for Savannah. She needs a man who will complement her strengths and offset her weaknesses. Someone who will stand by her side, supporting her, as well as she does in return. She doesn’t want to be placed on a pedestal and treated like a princess; she wants to be treated like an equal.

Axel can't do that. His head is too far up his own ass to put anyone but himself first. I know it. Every student from here to New York knows it. Savannah is the only one who has failed to get the memo. If we were close like we were back in primary school, I wouldn’t hesitate to call Axel out as the douchebag he is. But since I'm the perverted weirdo who loiters in the dusty parking lot at the back of his school, waiting for my mates to finish detention just so I have an excuse to watch her cheerleading practice, I’ll keep my mouth shut.

It isn't my place to interfere in her life. It is the man she's greeting right now with a kiss on the cheek. The one throwing her over his shoulder and swatting her bottom while his friends wolf whistle and catcall like morons. He’s the one who should tell her she deserves better. Not me. Not the boy she shared her first kiss with. Or the one she promised to marry when she was six.

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