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My hands drop down to my sides, and my shoulders slump as I lean harder against the building. What am I going to do?
I didn’t want to go home before. Now, it’s the absolute last place I want to spend my summer break.
Celeste—my mom—has always had a childlike innocence about her. She has Peter Pan syndrome nailed, where she refuses to ever grow up. It’s the reason most of my friends are drawn to her. She’s fun and more like one of the girls than an authoritative figure. I never really had rules, growing up. And if she did ever try to reel me in when I was younger, she was never good at following through.
I was the product of a teenage pregnancy. I was born on June 25 to a seventeen-year-old woman who was still a child herself. My mom decided to keep me, and my dad decided to bail. For the first few years of my life, we lived with her parents in a basically stable household. But my grandparents politely asked Celeste and me to leave when my mother spent more time out of the house than in it and my grandparents spent all their time raising a grandchild that they never asked for. Don’t get me wrong; they loved me. And they were good to me. But they had raised their children, and they weren’t looking forward to round two. So, one day, Celeste and I came home to find movers loading our things into a truck. We were dropped off at an apartment complex a few miles away with the deposit and three months of rent paid up front.
Oh, and, “Good luck,” from my grandparents, who left for a cruise a few days later.
My mom was forced to grow up and get a job, one she had to keep. Because one thing about adulting is, the bills keep coming every month whether you have the money to pay them or not. And to her credit, Celeste was always able to make ends meet, though we barely scraped by some months. We eventually were able to rent a house. My grandparents still watched me when they were around and my mom was working, but they started traveling more and more, taking advantage of their retirement years.
Even though Mom was forced into responsibility, she still managed to party on nights and weekends. For all her faults, Celeste is a stunningly beautiful woman. She turns heads wherever we go. She always has. But for as gorgeous as she is, she’s equally insecure. And that insecurity always has her jumping from one relationship to another. She finds her worth through men. When they notice her, she feels seen. When they love her, she feels cherished. But as soon as the attention stops, she falls apart. And I end up picking up the pieces.
Movement in my peripheral vision has me lifting my eyes just as Connor steps in front of me. I haven’t spoken to him since that night at Cheerz when I stormed out. He’s messaged me and called a few times, but I haven’t answered. To be honest, I’m over it. I wanted things to be fun and easy. And this situationship between Connor and me became the opposite of casual that night. I’ve watched my mom enough over the years to know what I don’t want. The minute Connor became complicated is the minute I checked out.
“Hey,” he says with his signature sexy smirk. He brushes my blonde strands over my shoulder.
“Hey,” I say back.
I’m not angry with him. I’m not upset. I feel … nothing.
“I’ve been calling you,” he murmurs, leaning his shoulder against the side of the building next to me.
“I know,” I say. My tone isn’t cold or confrontational. It’s apathetic.
And I can tell by the wrinkles in the football stud’s forehead that he’s confused by my indifference, though I seriously doubt he’s losing sleep over my silence.
“What’s up with you, Madison?”
I shrug and look away, watching all the students walking around campus again. It’s a beautiful, sunny afternoon. It’s much too nice of a day to be stuck inside, studying.
“Nothing, Connor. Just studying. Preparing for finals, like the rest of the student body. What’s up with you?”
“Well, I’m hoping that you and I are what’s up. I want to see you again.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I say, meeting his eyes and playing with the bracelet on my wrist.
“Why not?” he demands.
“I’m just not into it anymore,” I say honestly.
He scoffs like that answer is so unbelievable to him that he can’t accept it. I mean, what woman wouldn’t want to be on Connor Carlson’s arm, right?
“Is there something going on between you and Burnham?” His jaw tics after he says Ollie’s last name.
“His sister is my best friend,” I explain, though I don’t owe him anything. “I’ve known Ollie for most of my life. That’s something you would know if you ever took the time to get to know me.”
His eyes narrow. “Is that what this is about? I wasn’t attentive enough?”
“Why does it have to be about something?” I ask with a sigh. “Why can’t it be enough to say this thing”—I gesture between my chest and his—“has run its course?”
I don’t know when the dynamic shifted between us, but Connor demanding answers like a needy chick is a surprise to me. I thought the football player would just fade into the distance when he didn’t hear from me. I’m sure he has plenty of willing women waiting to take my spot on his roster. And I’m sure he hasn’t been lonely all those nights I wasn’t returning his calls.
I see it the moment he decides I’m not worth the effort.
He watches me through narrowed eyes for a few seconds before scoffing, “Whatever.” He pushes off from the wall, spins, and his broad back disappears into the crowd on the sidewalk.
I’m guessing Connor isn’t used to being rejected. Men and their egos …
