"Yeah. Totally." I twirled my hair, and thought of what I could say to get the hell out of this car as quickly as possible. "I just don’t know if I’m ready to date again."
"I understand." Hmmm. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. "We don’t have to date. We can do… other things," he said, staring at me with his upper lip curled into a snarl. Hmmm… maybe not.
"Look… you seem like a really nice guy. It’s just that I’m not ready to… you know."
"Ok. Look, I’m not going to force you. But can I come up and use your restroom really quick?"
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly, thinking of what his intentions might actually be.
We walked up the stairs and I grabbed my keys out of my purse. As I unlocked the door, I felt his hands come around my waist. Oh, boy.
I turned around and before I could stop him, Charlie was gripping me tightly against his body, and he bent down to kiss me. It was not a welcome kiss; surely, he knew that. He had to know that. I felt his wet, cold lips touch mine, and I tried to squirm away. He only held on tighter, his tongue jammed down my throat. I pushed him away from me, but he was so much bigger; so much stronger. Our lips broke apart, and I took the opportunity to express my disdain.
"Get off me!" I said slowly; too quietly. It was almost a whisper. I tried wiggling away from him but he pushed me against the wall and kissed me again.
This time, he was a little rougher. My back ached where he slammed me against the hard, stucco wall. I felt him pin me completely and I started to panic. His mouth was locked on mine and I tried with all of my might to push him off so I could at least kick him. This wasn’t happening. How did he think this was OK?
"Please… leave me alone," I begged, as his slid one of his hands up my dress. He couldn’t possibly be doing what I think he was doing. "Don’t. Just go," I whispered.
Out of nowhere, I saw a flurry of movement and in one swift swoop, Charlie was crumpled on the ground, his face in his hands. I looked up, and there, right in front of me, was Alec. He was massaging his right hand; the hand that had punched Charlie square in the jaw.
ACKWNOLEDGEMENTS
Thank you Peter and Talianna, for being the first two sets of eyes on this thing. Thank you Kaelyn for your ruthless copyediting. I'm working on my overuse of commas and semicolons.
Thank you Mom, Dad, and Becky for being the best family a girl could ask for, and for encouraging me to pursue this writing thing.
Thank you, friends: you know who you are. I’m sorry I was so boring during the months of November and December of 2014. Now you know why.
Thank you to the parents of children whom I babysit from time to time. Parts of this book were born while your children were asleep.
Thank you to Elizabeth Gilbert and Victor Hugo, two very different authors, for continually inspiring me and giving me a reason to keep writing.
And finally, my cats. I love them even when they’re being assholes.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amanda Richardson is an award-winning author living in Los Angeles with her fiancé and two cats. When she’s not writing, she can be found drinking wine, playing Scrabble, or searching for cheap flights to places she’s never been.
You can visit her website here: http://www.amandarichardsonauthor.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/amandawritesbooks
For news and updates, sign up for my mailing list here!
The Foretelling (Charlotte Bloom #1) Page 22