And I’ll be okay with that.
I might run home and have a good cry over it, but I’ll be okay.
Embarrassed, yes, but okay.
I inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I got it, Mom,” a male voice says on the other side.
The door swings open, and before I can brace myself for this meeting I’m standing before the guy I couldn’t stop thinking about only a month before.
He stands in front of me, same short hair, earring in his left ear, turquoise green eyes, and tanned skin. His chest is bare this time, displaying a pair of six-pack abs that makes me decide they should be called sex pack abs, because the thoughts I’m thinking are wholly sex worthy. He wears a pair of basketball shorts low on his hips, the top of his boxer briefs peeking out. I look further down and note his long bare feet.
I can’t breathe.nbsp;
I can’t breathe.
I can’t BREATHE.
It’s HIM. It’s THE guy. The one Perry mowed over and that, up until my transplant, kept slipping into my thoughts unbidden.
I’d never been the kind of girl who obsessed over guys. After my diagnosis, and subsequent enrollment in home schooling, I just hadn’t taken an interest in guys. I didn’t have the time or energy.
But something about this guy, from the moment I saw him, was different.
And it wasn’t just his looks, there was this aura around him that drew me like a moth to a flame.
It feels like I look at him for minutes, but I know in reality it’s only seconds.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “Wrong house.”
Before he can do or say anything, I turn and run.
I run straight down the path, through the gate, and down the sidewalk.
“Hey! Wait!” I hear behind me and the gate clinks.
I don’t stop. I keep running. After all, he can’t chase me on the hot sidewalk with no shoes.
I run, and I run, and I run.
I don’t know if I’m even allowed to run, but I keep going, because I’m scared to stop.
If I stop, he might be able to catch up to me if he went back and got shoes, and I can’t let him.
I can’t face the truth.
>
I don’t want to.
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A whole week passes, and I don’t tell anyone, especially not Harlow and Meredith, what I attempted to do.
It was a bad idea to begin with and I never should’ve done it.
July slams into California with a sweltering heat that makes me rethink all my praise for our weather. It’s almost impossible to walk outside and not break into a sweat.