Red Leather (Book 2)

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I've never cared for the whole Girl Meets Boy Game.

You know the game I'm talking about – the one that all girls play. We see a guy we like, but we don't want him to know that we think he's hot, so we play it cool each day. If you catch the same bus as him, you spend a little extra time on your hair every morning. And each day, you scoot closer and closer to him, until he's bound to talk to you. Or at least make some eye contact.

You chat each other up for a couple of weeks, and all that time you imagine what your babies will look like, and how big the diamond on your engagement ring will be. You add each other on Facebook, but you don't want to seem too eager and desperate. No – you want him to think that you're everything he's ever wanted. So your profile picture becomes a little sluttier as time passes and your friendship builds. You agree to everything he says. You imagine how soft his hair must feel. Your toes curl with envy whenever another girl so much as nods at him.

And then he asks you out.

You're ecstatic. Bursting with happiness. You brag constantly to your friends about how amazing he is, and how happy you two are. He showers you with compliments, and texts you non-stop. You get worried whenever he doesn't text back. But it doesn't matter – you think that you'll last forever, you and him. Soul mates. Inseparable till the end.

You love him so much that you lose your virginity to him. Everything is so golden and wonderful that you never notice how his eyes linger just a little too long on your best friend's cleavage.

Then his texts become shorter and more infrequent. He spends more time with his friends than with you. He never calls you anymore, and you get so frustrated, thinking that you're the only one putting in all the effort. You start to fight – a lot. To the point that you won't talk to each other for days. You're burning with so many ugly feelings – hatred, sadness, frustration, longing. Then suddenly, you wake up one day missing him. Missing him so much that you go straight to his house to apologise.

You find him in bed with your best friend. Your entire world tears apart.

More often than not, it plans out exactly like that. Maybe a detail or two could be left out – maybe he doesn't cheat on you. Maybe you cheat on him. Or maybe he merely breaks up with you via text. But even so, sooner or later you find yourself with a lot of heartache, broken friendships, shattered self-esteem, and endless wasted tissues.

It's not worth it.

Because we all know exactly what boys want. The way I see it, all that effort goes straight down the drain. They don't notice that your hair is parted to the left instead of the right. All they notice is that your bra size has jumped from A to B since middle school, and now that your braces are off, he won't have to worry about injury when you go down on him.

Chloe Newman once had a boyfriend like that.

Chloe - guileless idiot, the daughter of two Supreme Court judges and my most loyal pet - had something that I wanted. She had Byron. 

And he was hot. As in, 'Fire Engine Code-Red Warning: Highly Flammable' hot. Byron Darren was the equivalent of every male Brazilian model in the world, with all his golden tan looks and deep, deep eyes. He had this slight accent that made my friends light-headed, and Chloe, bubbly redheaded Chloe, was the one who snagged him.

I was pissed. More than pissed.

Enraged.

Byron was supposed to be mine.

But it didn't bother me. I was hot. I was confident. And best of all, I always got everything I wanted.

I tried to wait as patiently as possible – I really did. For months I stood beside Chloe, smiling my painfully wide smile, listening as her relationship went from heavenly to stale.