Chapter Eighteen

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I don't like wearing leggings

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I don't like wearing leggings. Every time I do, I can't help but feel insecure. Steff says I have boobs and an ass to die for, but I'd literally die just to have her petite and toned body. Unfortunately, that is never going to happen for me. And I spend an unhealthy amount of time staring at myself. The leggings make my thighs look big. I don't want Liam to see me like this. I feel like I look too short, too curvy, too— something. I hate that I have nothing better to wear.

Lately, I have been too lazy to do laundry, so now leggings are all I'm left with. Well, that and shorts, but I'd much rather wear leggings. The fall weather is chilly outside, and the cold really hates me. Besides, I rarely wear shorts. I hate people looking at my legs. That was one of the things I didn't enjoy about swimming.

I am wearing my black high waisted Fabletics leggings and pair it with a white, oversized sweater and white sneakers. My hair still has its curls from the morning, so I decide to leave it as it is.

"Where to?" Mom asks when I rush down the stairs with a backpack in hand.

"We are having a sleepover at Steff's. Remember that huge assignment I told you about?"

"Ehmm," She looks at me over the rim of her coffee mug like she doesn't quite believe me.

"That's not done yet. So, yeah. And I'll probably go to school from there in the morning." I avoid eye contact because I feel like she can somehow read my mind if I look into her eyes.

"I don't like you sleeping out too much." She tells me, and I nod.

"I know, but I kind of have to. It's not that big of a deal, mom."

Telling Jayden I couldn't make it because my mom needed me home is already weighing on me, and I don't need to add the stress of lying to my mom right now.

I say goodbye to the twins and make my way to Liam's. I don't think I'll ever get used to being around him. My heart is literally about to beat out of my chest just thinking about tonight. It never felt like this with Elliot. When I go up the driveway, I see him standing out front. He walks over to the passenger door, and I unlock it for him. He steps inside and buckles his belt.

"Where are we going?" I ask as I blatantly ogle his inked arms.

The black paint spreads twirling and twirling, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. And I know what he looks like under there.

I feel myself blushing.

"The grocery store. We are going to have Spaghetti for dinner. I'm going to teach you how to make Bolognese Sauce." He says, oblivious to my dirty thoughts.

I hate cooking, but I love cooking with him. And I can't help but notice how easy going and relaxed he is when he isn't around people. I start the engine.

"So, do you cook every day?" I ask as I make a U-turn.

"I barely cook at all. I mean, I enjoy it but cooking for one gets pretty dull." He says, looking at me sideways. I try not to smile. I love the idea of him cooking just for me.

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