Michelle A few weeks have passed since the accident, and I'm in a good mood. My brown hair is caught in a messy bun at the top of my head. Tiny little baby strands are falling into my forehead, and I blow them away while filling the bathtub. It's a luxurious one, and I'm tempted to call it a jac
The muscles in his neck and arms look swollen since it's what he has been focusing on. Maddox isn't allowed to put much weight on his leg, but he will hopefully be free from the chair and crutches next week. "Well, look at you..." I let my fingers run up his muscular arm. "Someone has been putting
Michelle Heaven is a place on earth. I'm nestled into Maddox's side and one hundred percent high on the afterglow after our fantastic sex. Rose petals are floating around in the bathtub, and I'm happy. A smile is glittering over my lips. "That was—..." I bite my lip, unable to finish the sentenc
Addison I look myself in the rearview mirror. Blonde hair—check. Brilliant smile despite my braces—check. Converse sneakers—check. I'm ready. Today is the day I should come clean, apologize to Jason for my past misbehavior, and ask him out. I'm going to tell him that I can't forget about him,
"I'M COMING IN!" Without even waiting, I open the door to Jason's bedroom and unleash the foam inside the room. The girl is screaming, Jason is screaming, and I'm screaming—his damn pug is screaming. Everybody is screaming. "Who is this girl?!" The red-head stares at me, and then she mutters some
Addison "Have you apologized to him?" "Of course, I have," I say while playing with Gabriel and Isaac on the carpet in the living room. "I left a vanilla latte, and some homebaked apple pie flavored cookies with Lionel. I also sent a text..." Michelle glances down at me from the kitchen table. Sh
Jason Life is a bitch. I'm stuck playing college football for at least a few more months. Even though I could have made it to NFL like Robin and Maddox, I decided to wait for a better contract. But now it all depends on me. I can feel the pressure biting me in the back at all times, even in the sh
*** Later that same day, I'm on that blind dating app. "Weirdo twenty-five, huh?" I stare at the name of the person I've matched with. The compatibility rate is scary—ninety-five percent. Should I write to her? Probably. Ugh, but what do I tell her? I got on this app because Tinder is wearing