Brie Sheridan has had her heart broken way too many times. Rhett Price is usually the culprit, but, this time, he might be the solution.
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Brooke 'Brie' Sheridan wouldn't necessa...
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BRIE
My shoulders stiffen, though my insides feel as though I've just been kicked right in the stomach. The last voice I want to hear is always the one I'm bound to let ruin my day when I least expect it, as if there's any way my day can possibly get any worse.
When it comes to me, it can. It always can.
I sigh, then turn around to face the music.
"Rhett Price," I greet, through gritted teeth, while my body is more than prepared to trigger a fight or flight response. "You did."
His smirk only widens. "Great. I'm happy to know that all my efforts amounted to something."
There's nothing about Rhett-Freaking-Price's existence that doesn't infuriate me on a normal day. Today isn't a normal day on any count, and having to be in the same vicinity as him is doing nothing to ease my hair-trigger temper, which isn't fair to either of us. None of this is his fault, realistically, and I don't want to snap at him when I'm on the verge of tears (it would be way too humiliating, even for someone like me), but one of the other rules of the universe that only seem to apply to me is that everything that happens to me can somehow be traced back to Rhett.
Even if it seems like too big of a stretch, even if it sounds like I'm overreacting and overestimating his influence in my life, he's been a part of it for far too long and has impacted me in ways I'm not necessarily comfortable with. I won't ever admit it aloud, especially since I suspect he knows he can get to me in forms that other people won't come close to, and I don't want him to be reminded of that. His ego doesn't need more food when it's as inflated as it currently is.
Usually I can avoid him fine, as we don't frequent the same circles or have the same interests, generally speaking, but we have some classes in common, and I've had to photograph the hockey team's games to help out Nancy, my roommate, with whatever article she's working on for the newspaper. It's a small campus, though, and we don't actively attempt to stay out of each other's way; since Murphy's Law appears to be in full swing today, I suspected it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other.
He has the audacity to stand there, leaning his back against the brick wall of the coffee shop I've just stormed out of, arms crossed, smirk still dancing on those stupidly perfect lips of his. I know those lips like the back of my hand, a harsh reminder of the Dark Days, the days when all I wanted was for him to want me back, and I've been kissed by those same lips. Those lips are also the ones who have uttered words he can never get back, words that have harmed my self-esteem in ways that were almost irreparable, and it took me an eternity to piece myself back together.
"I'm really not in the mood for banter right now, so if you'll excuse me," I dryly say, forcing myself to look away from him. It's a lot easier said than done, courtesy of the magnetism his mere presence exerts, and, even when I stare down at my shoes, I still feel the pressure of his piercing green eyes boring into my face.
