All too soon, we were at my door and I slid off, away from her warmth, away from her scent.
I walked up the steps and turned back around. “Goodnight, Cricket Hunt.”
“Goodnight, Spencer Blackwell.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I laid down and tried to sleep. I knew I was going to be exhausted the next day as it was, but I couldn’t keep my thoughts from straying toward Cricket.
I used to keep this obnoxious list of criteria for the girls I dated. I would often hang with my friends and we would amend it, sharpen it up, add a few things. I kept the list and used it, even after I graduated prep school. These were the basics.
1) She must be a minimum of five foot ten.
2) Her hair can never be cut above the shoulders.
3) No fatties, but she has to maintain enough curves to satisfy.
4) No smaller than a C-cup.
5) Private school educated.
6) She must run in our circle.
7) Minimum seventy-five thousand dollar vehicle.
Now for my more personal preferences:
8) Blonde.
9) Elegant features.
10) Perfectly symmetrical face.
11) Facial features must look balanced.
12) No nicknames.
13) Quiet.
14) No clingers.
I’d memorized the list. Oh my God, I thought, what a douche I’ve been.
Cricket had obliterated it, just annihilated my previous criteria. She only shared a few attributes on the list, but I’d discovered something that evening that startled me. It didn’t matter to me what I wanted before, because I somehow didn’t want that anymore. I wanted someone short, thin and wispy with chin-length dark hair. Someone with grit, with gumption, with personality, with character, with humor. Someone who represented feisty, capable and talented. Someone like Cricket.
Cricket was my new criteria.
I crossed my arms across my chest and fell to sleep with a stupid grin on my face.
“Well, she’s disgusting,” Piper said, filing at a nail.
“What?” I asked, spinning around in my stool to face her.
“This Cricket you speak of. She sounds dumb. She has no direction. She doesn’t want to stay at her grandparents’ ranch, but she’s too afraid to tell them so. She has no direction. She doesn’t share your dream. She’s not meant for you. Besides, she’s a frail little thing. Not very attractive, if you ask me.” My blood was boiling at a dangerous level. I found myself panting to control the anger. My fists coiled at my sides. “She’s going to take your money,” Piper provoked.
I unexpectedly launched myself at Piper and wrapped my hand around her throat. Her nail file rang out as it hit the tile beneath our feet.
“Take. That. Back,” I gritted.