AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, okay. Right.” Her gaze shifts to the ground for a few seconds, before she walks over to the couch to retrieve her bag from the floor, gathering her things and slinging the strap over her shoulder.
She bends down to pet Roxie and says goodbye to her, without bothering to as much as look at me as her heels click down the long hallway. The front door slams hard behind her, the sound rattling the house.
I feel like a piece of shit because I am a piece of shit. My secrets are not just mine to keep. As much as I was beginning to like Kennedy, I would have ended up disappointing her or she would have stabbed me in the back. That’s how relationships work with me—one extreme or the other. And I am nowhere near ready to let someone into my life, not when I can’t sort out my shit.
Chapter Nine
KENNEDY
After leaving Tyler’s house in a fit of rage, I drove straight to Sydney’s apartment. I had an overwhelming desire to punch him in the face as I stormed off. But I played it off as if he meant nothing to me. I like Tyler, thought maybe he was different from what I had assumed about him. Clearly, I was wrong.
Now, I’m sitting in front of Sydney’s apartment, beating the shit out of my steering wheel and crying my eyes out. I made it all the way across the bridge and into Philadelphia before having my nervous breakdown. It wasn’t the first time I hooked up with a guy and it ended in complete disappointment.
And it sure as hell wasn’t my first almost one-night stand. If it weren’t for Roxie, we would have had sex at least a few times before I left his house. At least bitches stick together in his house because she saved me from making a horrible mistake. I hate men. They are so much better on fucking paper.
Focused on smashing my fists against the steering wheel, I don’t even real
ize I sounded the horn until I hear someone knock on my window. I look to my left and see Sydney standing outside my car, her hand raised in the air and an odd expression on her face. Concern, maybe. After all, I do look like a crazy person right now.
Trying to compose myself before rolling down the window, I wipe the tears from my eyes and suck in a deep breath. Sydney taps again, more impatient this time, and I hit the unlock button and open my door, desperate to free myself from this car.
“What the fuck happened?” Sydney swings her black curls over her shoulder and places her hands on her narrow hips, taking in the sight of me with mascara running down my face, the tears still welling in my bottom lids.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter and grab my bag from the passenger seat. “Stupid fucking Tyler is all.”
“I am going to kick his ass. What did he do?” Her face turns a shade of pink, the blush spreading down her neck and chest.
Holding onto the door jam, I slide out of the car and sling my bag over my shoulder. “Well, like an idiot, I hooked up with him.”
She gasps, throwing her hand over her mouth in shock and speaks between her fingers. “You had sex with Tyler Kane. Shut the fuck up. How was he?”
“I wouldn’t know his dog kept getting in the way, but we did other things.”
“You saw his stick? Oh my God! So…how big was it? Give me every skanky detail.” I hold up my hands to show her, and she squeals. “Get out of here! He’s rich, a pro athlete, and has a porn star dick. That’s like hitting the trifecta of man candy.”
“Yeah, except he’s a fucking jerk. Everything was going fine until I asked him about his personal life. Then, he nearly threw me out of his house. As if my humiliation wasn’t bad enough, I had to dress like a cartoon character for our experiment and then leave looking like this.” I point at my clothes. “I have no idea how I even held my head up without any shame when I am wearing a fuzzy pink sweater that is part of your Halloween pimp costume. This idea was stupid. Tyler liking me in this outfit proved that men would fuck anything with a vagina. They could care less what we wear.”
She tugs at the arm of my sweater, the corner of her mouth turning up into a tiny smile. I can tell she is holding back and wants to laugh her ass off. I would not blame her because this outfit is awful, which seems fitting since it matches the rest of my day.
“C’mon. I have something that will cheer you up. I bought more of that French Roast coffee you like, and I went to the bakery this morning. I have chocolate chip and sugar cookies with your name on them.”
After I lock my car, Sydney drags me through her front door and up the stairs to her apartment. Her living room is three times the size of mine with high ceilings, a view of the city, and gorgeous decorations and furniture to match. Her place is something you would find in a magazine but in real life.
I plop down on the crazy expensive couch she had imported from Europe as she heads into the kitchen to fix our coffee. The gray fabric is soft yet rough and unlike anything I have ever felt. Even with all the wealth I had for most of my life, I don’t recall every touching something as unique as Sydney’s couch. Sydney made it big right out of high school with her first romance novel, a super smutty teacher-student book she based on the affair she was having with our hot English Lit teacher.
He was five years older than we were at the time and the things they did together make for good bedtime reading material. Over the years, people speculated that her book was about Mr. Delaney because of the out-in-the-open flirting she did with him during class, but no one could ever connect them together. She has a habit of writing about her life experiences, and those conquests are what land her on the best-seller lists.
“Here you go,” Sydney says, handing me a coffee mug on a saucer with two chocolate chip cookies on the side. “Cream and sugar. Just the way you like it, babe.”
She settles in next to me on the couch, her pinky turned up as she sips from her cup. While Sydney is far from a snob, she sure as hell looks like one when she drinks coffee or tea. For the ten years we have known each other, she has never been able to break that habit she says comes from her mother showing her how to drink tea from her play set as a child. Unlike Sydney, her mother is a snobby elitist, just like my mom and sister.
“I’m done with this social experiment, Syd. I gave it a shot, and it worked, but I just can’t repeat this again.”
She lifts her laptop from the coffee table and sets it on the couch between us. “Then, do what I would do and write about it. Our readers will go apeshit over a story like this, and you know it.”
“Yeah,” I try to hide my irritation and fail, “but Tyler has been reading our blog. He even commented on some of the posts.”
She rubs my shoulder and sets her coffee on the table. “After what happened today, I doubt Tyler will read our silly little blog. I’m sure he has better things to do with his time.”
