Thursday, June 27, 2013

Carey Heywood - Spotlight


Sarah Miller hasn’t been home in seven years. She thought she could stay away forever. If it wasn’t for her big brother's wedding, that is. Part of her even feels silly for staying away this long. It's not like anyone even knew what happened. Well, except for him.
That guy. The one she compared all others to. The one who set the bar so high no other guy after him could even compete. The one who made her feel like anything was possible. The one she thought she would never be good enough for. The one she spent the last seven years trying to forget.
All she needs to do is make it through the next week without running into him.


"Are you about done yet?"
"With what?" I mumble into my pillow.
I feel the bed lower under his weight and raise my head to look at him.
"Your hissy fit."
I drop my head again. "Nope."
I have clearly been sucked back in time. I'm in my old room, and he is sitting on my bed. Only the last time he was here, we were… I have to stop thinking about the past. I peek up at him, and he laughs but doesn't move. I don’t know why I'm so annoyed at him.
I lift my head further and rest my chin on my elbows. "So, on the plane, when you asked where I live and what I do. Did you already know?"
He shrugs. "Some."
I flip over on to my side, my back to him. The whole time I've been gone I just assumed he didn’t know where I was or how to get a hold of me. I had always hoped that if he did, he would come after me. Learning that he probably knew where I was the whole time hurt. It only confirmed my leaving after that night had been the right decision. Ugh, why couldn’t he just go away?
I stand, backing away from the bed. "I think I'm going to take a shower. You should go hang out with your buddy, the groom."
"I'm comfy."
My eyebrows come together as I glare at him. "You can't stay in here when I take a shower."
"Why not? I used to do it all the time."
"We were friends then." I snap.
He chews on the corner of his bottom lip then stands, walking over to me, pulling me to his chest. "You are still such a punk."
I hate how wonderful my traitorous body feels in his arms. All I want to do is wrap my arms around his neck and kiss the smirk off his face. Instead, in the spirit of self-preservation, I kick his shin. He drops his arms and allows me to push him out the door. I lock it behind him before leaning against it and sliding to the floor. I  pluck at the weave of the carpet next to me. What am I going to do?

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