One broken heart. Two old flames. An unexpected reunion.
Diana Hamilton has spent the last six years trying to leave the girl she was in high school behind. Along with any residual feelings she had for Mason Hayworth, the golden boy who shattered he...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
An hour later, I am stepping out of the shower, still angry at myself for getting in it in the first place.
What happened to not getting dressed up for him? What happened to being in control? Do the words 'spineless' and 'jellyfish' mean anything to you?
I ignore the questions in my head as I turn to look at what to wear tonight; deciding on a pair of jeans and a green halter top with my favourite ankle boots. Simple and casual. I almost want to high-five myself for not putting in too much effort.
But then I have to acknowledge the fact that I shouldn't be putting in any effort at all.
I line my dark brown eyes with liner and then sweep some mascara across my lashes, finishing off the look with pale pink lip gloss before starting to blow dry my hair.
Which by the way, isn't putting in effort because it's wet from the shower and I don't want to go out and catch pneumonia because of damp hair.
Oh who am I kidding?
I glance at my watch again. It's now twenty past six and Mason is nowhere in sight.
I don't know why I am surprised. I don't think Mason has ever been on time for anything in his life. The man would probably be late for his own funeral.
I also don't know why I am standing on the sidewalk like a loner as I wait for him. I could be in the comfort of my apartment. Instead, I awkwardly shift my feet and pretend to be interested in something on my phone.
Yes, the picture on my home screen of me, Alexa and Hailee is very fascinating.
Just then a black Mercedes pulls up next to me and Mason steps out of it. "Sorry I'm late Di, you know how it is."
Well, no I don't, actually. As excuses go, it's a pretty poor one. In fact, it's non-existent. But I just nod my head slightly as he gestures towards the passenger door and climbs back in his car.
I get in and glance around the leather exterior. The inside is spotless, not a wrapper or piece of clothing anywhere in sight. Completely different to the truck he drove when we were teenagers. I can remember all the times I had to push rubbish off the seat just so I could sit down.
Maybe he has changed since then?
"I'm glad you came." He smiles warmly at me and reverses the car, pulling back onto the road.
I just nod again. If he thinks it's weird that I haven't said a word yet, he doesn't say so.
I guess he's used to my silence by now.
"I can't believe how different you look, Di." He smirks as he changes gears. "But good different."
I blame you. You were the one who made me so self-conscious about my weight.
