The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“And just so we’re clear, my name’s Rachel now. Not Shelly and not effing Shel. Ra-chel. Learn it, use it, and stop being such a juvenile idiot.”

I stare right through her till she turns.

Like I’ll ever forget that name.

I fight the urge to rip out my eyes as they stay glued to her ass until she disappears from view.

Then I stick my head back under the hood of the Mustang and try to make peace with Shel Simon wishing I never existed.

Like it’s even fucking possible.

5

Pearls Before Swine (Rachel)

Welp, he did it again.

Worse, I let him.

I allowed Weston Jerkwad McKnight to get me so flaming mad I’d like to spin right around and pitch a rock at his smug grumpy-grump face.

Doesn’t he get it? I was trying to be nice, to make a truce, to come to some kind of understanding so we can stand being neighbors while I’m here but...

...but he doesn’t want that, apparently.

Neither should I.

He can go straight to hell, along with his stupid black t-shirt showing off those stupid biceps bigger than my head, and the stupid ripples of his sculpted chest, and even his stupid, stupid diamond-cut abs.

Can you tell I’m pissed?

I hate that he’s right. We don’t need to waste more breath on each other, picking at a ghosting act that happened years ago and he doesn’t care to explain.

Ugh.

Being home and helping Gram would be so much easier if he was still just...gone.

I’m halfway across the yard between the house and barn when I stop near a tree. There used to be a double seater swing hanging here.

It’s mega bittersweet to see my first memory of life in Dallas gone.

I spent hours of my life in that swing from the very first summer we’d moved here.

I turn around and stare at the barn, poison longing tainting my blood.

Weston didn’t even tell me he was going away. I heard it first from Marty.

It was at the dinner table one evening. My brother just blurted out what he’d heard about Weston following up with that recruiter he’d met with months ago. He’d be leaving for bootcamp in days.

No planned goodbye. No final word. No big reveal. No comfort.

I was heartbroken.

No, I was gutted.

For most of my life, he was technically Marty’s friend, but after our parents died and we moved in with Grandma and Grandpa permanently, I considered him my best friend, too.

I was twelve and completely lost after the death of my parents. I needed all the friends I could get.