Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
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The air smells like rain-soaked asphalt and damp leaves, and my sneakers are already soaked from the puddles Scarlett keeps walking me through. It's overcast, like the weather can sense my sour mood—but it's kind of nice.
Still. Serene.
Too fucking early, though.
"You do realize this is inhumane, right?" I say, jogging a little to catch up with her.
Scar doesn't even glance my way, her pace unrelenting. "You're the one who asked to come."
"Because I was worried about you!" I exclaim, gesturing dramatically. "Breakups are dangerous. People do crazy shit when they're heartbroken. Like shaved their head. Join yoga cults. Or worse—an actual cult."
That earns me a small snort as Scarlett finally slows her pace, glancing at me. "That's what you're worried about?"
"Actually—true. You'd become their leader in like a day." I shake my head as Scar grins at me. "But I'm just saying—you've been suspiciously quiet since Logan. And I know you're not a big talker, but..."
Scar rolls her eyes, but there's a small smile on her face. "I'm still fine, Cam—just like when you bombarded me in the shower last night. I'm not about to spiral."
"Good," I reply, nodding. "Because I'd probably follow you to that cult, and I don't know what I'd do if those robes didn't match my color wheel."
Scar's beautiful face lights up at my awful attempt at diffusing the situation.
We continue down the paved trail winding along the edge of Ramsey Creek Park, the morning quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chirp of a bird.
The recent rain has left the path dotted with puddles, some of them mirroring the overcast sky above. A light mist hangs in the air, clinging to my skin and making my hairline damp under my hoodie.
It kind of feels like I'm in a watercolor painting.
There's the lake, still and glassy in the muted light. There are the trees, remnants of last night's rain dripping from their branches. There are other people out here too—joggers and dog walkers and early risers.
And then there's Jude groaning and moaning and ruining the peaceful ambiance.
"Why the fuck am I here?"
I turn to see Jude dragging himself forward like he's on the final stretch of a marathon. His oversized hoodie is practically swallowing him, and he's hunched over like damn Quasimodo.
"You're here for moral support," I say cheerfully, ignoring his death glare.
Jude stops walking, throwing his arms out dramatically. "I think I've pulled something. My calf. My soul."
"Aw, if only you had one," Scarlett says with a teasing grin.
"Aw—fuck you," Jude replies sarcastically, flipping both of us off with two hands.
