Copyright © 2017 Amy Sparling
All rights reserved.
First Edition September 2017
Cover design by Amy Sparling
Cover image from BigStockPhoto
Typography from Font Squirrel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems -except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from the author at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
When the bell rings, I grab my backpack and slip out of class, knowing what needs to be done. This one will be kind of hard. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I never enjoy breaking up with a guy, but it’s usually not a big deal. Usually it makes sense. We just don’t click. We’re just too different. We’re not soul mates.
Easy.
This one…well, Chris is really nice. He’s also super cute. Not to be a shallow jerk, but he’s hotter than any guy I’ve dated this year, and probably last year, too. He’s got that chiseled jaw, tanned skin, tall-dark-and-handsome thing going on. He always smells amazing too, like he somehow found a cologne that’s a mixture of every perfect boy smell.
He’s just not the one.
And so he has to go.
I can’t believe what I’m feeling as I make my way from the history hallway up to the front of the school to the cafeteria. There’s this flutter in my stomach, and a quickness to my heartbeat. Is this…nerves? Am I nervous?
That can’t be possible. I’ve done this a million times. I guess I just feel guilty about this breakup. But it has to happen.
“Chris!” I call out when I see his shaggy dark hair floating above the other students in the hallway. Did I mention he’s also super tall? He’s the whole freaking package, I tell you. The perfect guy to date, at least on the outside. But there’s something on the inside that isn’t clicking with me.
He turns around, his brows pulled together until he sees me. Then his whole face softens and his lips slide into a grin. “Hey,” he says, lifting his arm in a wave.
There’s too many people between us, so I point toward the entrance of the library, which is empty because no one visits the library unless they have to for a school project or something equally lame. His expression darkens instantly, but he makes his way through the crowd and meets me there.
We never stop on the way to lunch. For the sixteen days we’ve been dating, we go straight to the cafeteria where he sits with me and my friends while we eat lunch. But today is different, and he knows it.
“What’s up?” he asks. He scratches the back of his neck.
I know exactly what to say because I’ve said it before. Many times. Probably too many times.
“Listen, Chris,” I begin. “I need to talk to you.”
Most guys don’t know. It doesn’t click right away. They’ll actually look at me and wait for me to tell them that we’re over, that it’s not working, that we’re breaking up. But Chris is one of the smartest guys I’ve dated, and he knows. His eyes widen and then his shoulders fall, and then he says, “Why?”
“I just wanted to—”
“No, I mean why are you breaking up with me?” he asks. “We were good together.”
I swallow. I didn’t think I’d need a reason beyond I think we should break up. “It’s just not…vibing,” I say, cringing at my pathetic answer. Vibing? Who even says that?
He looks up at me and there are honest-to-God tears in the corners of his eyes. Tears. I am making him so sad he’s holding back tears.
I don’t think I can handle this. My chest constricts and I offer him a flat-lipped smile. “I’m sorry, Chris. You’re really great, it’s just—it’s me. It’s all my fault and it’s not yours, I swear. I’m sorry.”
The words come out quick and painful and he’s just watching me with this disappointed look on his face and I feel so bad I think I might throw up. Most guys don’t take it this hard. Most of them don’t really care.
I look toward the cafeteria on the opposite side of the hallway, hoping for a quick escape, but there’s still a million students walking to lunch so I can’t just bail. “I’m really sorry,” I say again.
“Yeah, me too,” Chris says. He blinks and his eyes go back to normal. He stands a little taller. I hope he really does feel better and isn’t just putting on an act to save face. I don’t want him to be upset. He’s a nice guy. A good guy.
“My friends were right about you,” he says, heaving a sigh.
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “They told me not to date you. Said you never stick around in relationships.”
Yeah, okay, that’s true, but I didn’t think people actually knew that. I feel my cheeks burn. “Like I said, it’s me. Not you.” I grab his arm in a pathetic attempt to comfort him. “You’re really great. You’ll find someone better than me.”
The crowd is finally thinning. “I’ll see you around,” I say as I turn to go.
“Yeah,” he says. “See you.”
My best friend Jacie lifts one eyebrow as I walk up to her in the cafeteria, gripping my lunch tray. She glances around me, making this over exaggerated show of looking to see if I’m alone, or if maybe Chris is somewhere behind me about to catch up.
“You broke up with him,” she says, and it’s not a question.
I set my tray down and sit next to her. “It was time.”
She snorts. “He was really nice.”
“Too nice,” I say.
“He was really cute.”
“Too cute.”
She shakes her head. “I love you but you’ve got issues.”
“I know.” I bite into my pizza and stare at the grease that drips off it and lands on my plate. “But let’s not talk about my issues.”
The thing is, I have no idea why I break up with guys after around two weeks. It’s a mystery. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than two weeks. Maybe two and a half weeks if we get technical. It’s a curse. And it’s all my fault because I’m the one that does the breaking up. Maybe if I dig down deep, I’ll unearth why I do the things I do, but I don’t feel like digging. I just want to move on.
“I mean, your parents are happily married,” Jacie says, sipping from her Diet Coke. “They are happy, right? They seem like it.”
I shrug. “They’re happy.”
“Well it’s not like you learned bad relationship habits from them.” She shakes her head. “You’re so weird. I would kill to have a boyfriend, and you get them all the time and then ditch them.”
“I don’t get boyfriends all the time,” I say. But even as I say it, my stomach kind of hurts. It’s just something weird with my junior year. No one liked me when I was a freshman and barely any guys liked me last year. But I think I’ve dated…ten guys this year. Now that I count them up, I do feel kind of bad.
“They just weren’t a match,” I say.
She laughs. “Okay. I dare you to date a guy for an entire thirty days.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I think you dump guys way too early and you should give it time to see if you’re a good couple or not.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious! Let’s make a bet. Date a guy for thirty days and you win.”
“What will I win?”
She considers it a moment. “My guitar.”
My jaw drops. “You’re lying.”
&n
bsp; She shakes her head. “I promise.”
Chapter 2
Jacie’s dad gave her a guitar three years ago as a bribe to make her like him after he cheated on her mom and they got divorced. But this isn’t just any guitar. It’s a 2014 Gibson Hummingbird Quilt. That thing cost at least three thousand dollars, and it’s gorgeous. Maple wood, a sleek shine, and unplayed frets. Despite being raised in a musical family, Jacie doesn’t even like guitars.
But I do.
I love them.
I love song writing and singing and I hope to one day be able to play the songs I write on my own guitar. A real one, not the cheap one I bought on eBay for fifty bucks. My guitar is a piece of crap, but Jacie’s guitar is beautiful. It’s perfect.
“There’s no way you can do that,” I say.
“Yes I can. It’s mine. I can do whatever I want with it.” Jacie takes another sip of her soda, not taking her eyes off me. “I don’t even like the damn thing because it’s just another bribe from my shitty dad. So… if you want it all you have to do is stay with a guy for thirty days.”
I exhale. “Is this going to be like some stupid movie where you pick out some loser and I have to try to date him?”
She laughs. “Nope. I’m being serious. You can choose the guy.”
I sit up straighter. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, that sounds like an easy bet to me,” I say. “This is too easy.”
“No, it’s smart. If you win, you’ll realize that relationships can be good if you just give them time.”
“And I’ll also get your guitar.”
She laughs. “Yes. A promise is a promise.”
I hold out my hand. “Shake on it.”
She grabs my hand and shakes. Now it feels final. Real.
In thirty days I’m going to own a Gibson Hummingbird Quilt.
“Now let’s find the lucky guy,” I say as I take a bite out of my pizza crust and scan the cafeteria. My eyes land on Chris’s table first, and I immediately feel bad. He’s sitting with his friends, pretending to pay attention to them. But I can tell he’s not really into it. Guilt claws at me and I look away.
There’s tons of eligible guys in my school, so I just need to find one who likes me and wants to go out. I look at all the tables around us, my eyes wandering over each guy. I skip over the guys who are younger than me and focus on the juniors and seniors.
“So how exactly do I get this new boyfriend?” I ask as I watch a guy who is totally cute in a nerdy way. I don’t know his name or anything about him. It’s not like I can walk up and ask to be his girlfriend.
But then again, this guitar is a big deal so maybe that’s exactly what I should do.
“Honey, if I knew how to get a boyfriend, I’d use that knowledge for myself,” Jacie says with a snort of laughter. “What do you normally do?”
I shrug. Normally a guy will show me attention, like in class they’ll start flirting with me, or they’ll add me on Snapchat and invite me to parties and stuff. It’s kind of obvious when a guy likes me, so if I like them back I’ll just flirt and let them know. Then they ask me to be their girlfriend and that’s how it happens.
“I’ve never sought out a guy…they just find me,” I say.
“God, your life is perfect,” Jacie says, shaking her head. “Guys just find me,” she mocks in a high-pitched voice. “I am so jealous of your awesome life.”
I knock into her with my shoulder. “My life isn’t awesome, Jacie. I’m just nice to guys. You’re always so stand-offish, so they’re scared of you.”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious? I’m standoffish?”
“A little?”
She frowns. “Teach me how to be nice.”
“It’s easy. You just … be nice.”
She laughs. “Okay, thanks for the awesome advice.”
“This isn’t advice time,” I say with a flourish of my hand. “It’s time to find me a guy.”
“Are you going to ask someone out?”
I scrunch up my face. “Hell no. That’s scary.”
“Then I guess your thirty days doesn’t start until someone asks you out.”
The bell rings and we toss our stuff in the trash. “That’s what I’m worried about. I’m so ready to win this guitar but with my luck, no guys are going to like me until I’m in my twenties.”
“Well the offer is still open, Mae.” Jacie grins at me. “I will save my Gibson for you until you finally date a guy for thirty days. And it has to be a real relationship, too. Not some mysterious guy who goes to another school that I never get to meet.”
I laugh. “Do you think I’d actually do that? You’re my best friend. I can’t lie to you.”
She grins. “I’ll need proof. Social media posts, hand holding, the works. You have to actually date this guy, okay?”
I nod. “It’s going to happen. I just need to find the right guy.”
The second half of the school day goes by entirely too fast. Before I know it, I’ve been to my last four classes and I’ve mentally scoped out every guy in them, and I’ve got nothing. The guys in my classes are either too young, or I’ve already dated them, or they’re gross—too gross to pretend to date even for a Guitar—or they have girlfriends. I’m not a bitch so I won’t be breaking up any couples to win this bet. I just need a nice single guy who will date me for thirty days.
I get an idea to maybe find someone and ask them to be my pretend boyfriend, but then I drop the idea a few seconds later. Jacie is my best friend and has been there for me for most of my life. I can’t lie to her. This has to be real.
At least as real as you can get for thirty days. And then I’ll have an amazing guitar.
I feel like some crazy boy-crazy weirdo as the day goes on. I’m looking at every guy, sizing them up, considering them for boyfriend material. But no one seems to look my way. No one cares.
I mean, I guess I didn’t expect some magical new boyfriend to appear out of thin air, but it would have been nice.
Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
Chapter 3
I’m nearly out the door when I remember I left my physics textbook in my locker. There’s no way I’ll get my homework done without it, so I turn around and rush back down the long hallway toward my locker, which is on the opposite side of school. By the time I’m back out in the parking lot, nearly everyone is gone. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I had been hoping to scope out some potential new boyfriend material.
I chuckle to myself because I’m being totally creepy, constantly on the lookout for a new guy. But I need that guitar.
I get to my car and toss my backpack into the passenger seat, then I walk around to the driver’s side. My tire looks weird. At first I think it’s a strange shadow, but then I bend down and realize the horrible truth. My tire is flat. Like, flat, flat. Not just low like it gets in the winter where it just needs a little more air.
This sucks.
I stand up, palming my forehead while I think of what to do. My parents are both at work, and Dad knows how to change a tire but he won’t be off work for a couple more hours. I pop my trunk and lift up the carpeted floor, revealing the spare tire. It has a tiny little jack with it, and a crowbar looking thing, but I know without a doubt that I have no idea how to do this.
I really should have paid attention that time Dad gave me a lecture about how to change a tire.
I figure I have three options. I can call a professional, who will no doubt charge me money I don’t have to fix my tire. I can sit here and wait two hours and then ask my dad to come help me.
Or I can try to change it myself.
I pull out the spare tire and the jack and set them on the concrete next to my flat tire. Then I sit down next to it and pull out my phone, looking up how to do this on YouTube.
“Need some help?”
A shadow falls over me. I look up to find Jaxon Rhode peering down at me, eyebrows raised.
“What are you doing?” he asks, leanin
g forward a bit. “Are you watching tire changing videos?”
I turn off my phone screen. “Yeah. Don’t judge me.”
He smiles and holds up his hands. “No judgement. But I can help, if you’d like?”
Jaxon Rhodes used to live on my street when we were in junior high. He was a little dorky back then, always wearing baggy jeans with polo shirts. It was no secret that he had a crush on me back in those days, because his friend Brian told me about it once. We were sitting on the bus and he told me that Jaxon had told him that he wanted to ask me to be his girlfriend. But I guess he got too embarrassed after that because then we never talked again.
I eye him now, wearing much trendier clothing now that he’s gotten older and filled out a bit. He’s no longer that scrawny nerd kid from back in the day.
“I’d love some help,” I say, giving him a pleading look.
He takes the tools and gets to work, removing the lug nuts like it’s simple. And it is kind of simple as I watch him. He positions the jack under the car, lifts it up, then changes out the tires, using the same lug nuts to put the spare tire back on.
“You’ll want to get this tire fixed as soon as possible,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “And drive careful, because these little spare tires can’t handle normal wear and tear.”
“Thank you so much, Jaxon.”
He flinches. “You know my name?”
And suddenly that dorky little kid I used to know is back. I nod. “Of course. We used to ride the same bus.”
He blinks.
“When you lived on Cherry Street. Remember?”
I can’t tell what kind of expression he has right now, and I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. “Yeah, I remember. You’re Mae, right?”
He has to be joking. There’s no way he doesn’t remember me. He used to have a freaking crush on me. Maybe he’s just trying to act cool.
“That’s me,” I say, standing up. I grab my old flat tire and roll it to the back of my car, then heft it into the trunk. Jaxon carries the jack and crowbar and sets them next to the tire.
Jaxon scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to say this but…”
Heartbreaker Page 1
