"I just want to know why." I say as I turn over, trying to find his figure through the dark of my room.
"Why what?" He asks.
"Why you're being so nice to me." I say quietly, vulnerability seeping into my words. "How we even became friends."
He sighs, "I want to know how."
I scrunch my brow. "How what?"
His response is soft, the opposite of his sarcastic personality. "How you don't see it."
Reagan Holt was about as average as a high school student could be. She didn't play any sports, didn't participate in the popular activities, and wasn't the girl all the boys chased after.
All except one boy.
He wrote her a letter every week. Each letter described something new for him to love about her. Whether it was how beautiful her laugh was or how his heart swelled with every smile she gave, he never failed to write how he felt.
So the two should be together, right?
That's the way Reagan wants it, but there's just one problem. He signs his letters
Now add an obnoxious, conceited, sex god into the equation and you get a teenage girl confused on who really loves her. The sweet, tender written anonymous lover, or the cocky, ignorant asshole?
YOU ARE READING
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