A shy high school senior jock and a closed-off girl battling an immune disorder fake a relationship to win a social media contest.
Being shy isn't easy, especially when you're the new kid at school. Scotts Valley's football program is subpar compare...
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My chest crumpled inward. Congestion clogged my nose, and my throat shrunk my breaths to short gasps. The words blurred under tears that poured over my cheeks. Hot trails tickled my skin, but I couldn't lift my hands to brush them away. My fingers shook until they were numb.
Doubt exploded in my mind, multiplying down my brain's synapses and spreading to every corner of me. Once I started shaking, I couldn't stop. My shoulders convulsed, sending ripples through me and jiggling my breasts. A flood of negativity fluttered my eyes closed.
I wasn't good enough. Stanford didn't want me. I would never be a doctor.
The letter's descent swept to the floor and swooshed under my bed. Good. I needed the distance, although it wouldn't lessen the pain gouging a hole in my chest.
Walking out of my bedroom and splashing water on my face in the bathroom wasn't enough. The downstairs air was too tight, and the attention from my parents' curious eyes was too exposing. I slammed the front door behind me. My hands shook, grasping around the wheel of my car with enough tension to yank it off. I choked a breath and blinked at the night sky beyond our driveway.
I had nowhere to go.
Nowhere. I was never leaving this one-blink town. I had nothing to offer. The empty sky and sandy pink hills caged around me, compressing the dry air in my lungs.
I couldn't go anywhere, but I could cry. Hard. Painfully hard, to the point my chest seized in pain. Until I couldn't see past my knuckles gripping the wheel. Until the dashboard became unrecognizable blurs. Until my throat turned raw and my nose leaked. Until my body tightened and convulsed. Until a low rumbling sound on my left, cut off, followed by a muted door slam.
Brody's knuckles wrapped on my window. I knew he was coming, yet seeing him hammered home everything I didn't want to acknowledge. Guilt and concern flickered into his eyes, hooded under his brows from the angle he dipped his chin down, and the tip of his tongue wet his lips. He bent over with his hands on his knees and pressed up to stand. A pair of black sweatpants hung loose on his hips and filled the view outside my door before he opened it.
Leaning inside the car and bending over me, Brody's hand pocketed my keys from where they sat in my lap. His humid breath fanned over the tip of my nose. One of his hands hooked under my knees and the other behind my back. I braced his chest as he lifted me, spun, and closed my door with a kick. My feet touched down enough for him to hug me, and we swayed to stillness.
"Paige. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he rushed a breath over my ear.
I couldn't hug him hard enough. He was here. He came without me asking and apologized unnecessarily again. A thick emotion swelled in my chest, twisting with the doubt and negativity from my inadequacy. The way he stood and abruptly cut our call, I knew he was coming, but the reality of him here, sounding worried and gripping my waist as if he was afraid of losing me, was crippling. I buried my nose into his chest and inhaled the spring-fresh detergent on his sweatshirt.
