“That’ll be all. You ladies have fun now.” Major’s voice filled the room. Several called out good-byes and “We will, don’t worry.”
I just stared down at my envelope.
Later, when I found a moment to excuse myself and use the restroom, I pulled out the envelope I had tucked away in my purse. Surprisingly, no one had asked me about it. I got curious glances but nothing more. Sliding the familiar stationery out of the thick envelope, I read the words.
Tight clothes in all the right places. Another thing that makes you beautiful.
That was all it said.
Three envelopes, three messages, one of them insulting. Or so I thought. I wasn’t sure just yet. He could have mentioned my personality or my ability to make him laugh or my big heart. Snarling at that thought, I realized I was thinking about how Rush thought of Blaire. Not how someone thought of me. When someone thought of me, he thought of tight clothing, not big hearts.
I tossed my purse onto the bed, changed out of the clothes I’d worn to the market, and put on my pajama bottoms and a tank top. It was time for some Netflix and popcorn. I’d run later. I wasn’t in the mood to burn calories right now. I needed to sulk. I might even add some chocolates to the popcorn. I’d need to do a ten-mile hike later, but it would be worth it.
If I didn’t have to think about these damn letters and my lack of qualities to make me beautiful, then I’d be fine. I’d bet he wouldn’t like me in tight clothing if I gained ten pounds. I might eat myself fat. That would be a fun distraction. Maybe then I’d find a man who loved me for me. Not some stupid pretty boy who liked my tight clothing. Asshole.
Major
Three days, three envelopes later, and nothing. Not one damn thing. She wasn’t texting, calling, or hunting me down. Cope had no fucking clue how to hook a woman. I knew this better than anyone. I was the master manipulator. Why did he think he could send me on this ridiculous letter-delivery adventure and believe it would work? Apparently, whatever these letters said wasn’t enough.
Cope was a mean-ass, cold-hearted, lethal soldier. Not a Casanova. I had to figure something out, because his idea was a bust.
As if he was currently reading my mind, my phone buzzed.
Her house right now. Take the blue envelope.
Stupid bullshit. It’s obviously not working, I replied, sitting on my kitchen counter with a soda.
Do it was his response.
Fucker. I might hate the bastard.
I was positive I hated the bastard. Control freak.
Nan
My bowl of popcorn with milk chocolate morsels scattered throughout sat in my lap, and season three, episode five, of Gossip Girl played on my flatscreen. This was escaping. I was happy here. Like this. No damn letters showing up, no one watching me and judging me. Assuming they knew all about me when they knew nothing. Small-minded idiots. I needed a Chuck Bass. He’d get me. He’d understand me. We were one and the same, Chuck and I.
My doorbell rang, and I set my bowl of goodness to the side and sighed in frustration. This had better be good if it was interrupting my perfect afternoon.
I should have peeked through the hole or glanced out the window. But no, I was in a hurry to get rid of the person on the other side of the door. So when I opened it and Major was standing there with a blue envelope in his hand, I wanted to scream in frustration.
“What is with you and these damn envelopes? Is it not enough to hunt me down in public? You have to come after me in private, too? Maybe I could start texting you my daily whereabouts so you don’t waste your time tracking me down. Would that be helpful?”
I snatched the envelope from his hand, expecting him to respond. But he didn’t. He just turned and walked away. Again.
Damn him.
I tore open the envelope and pulled out the same stationery. The very sight of it was beginning to annoy me.
Smart quips. Another thing that makes you beautiful.
I jerked my gaze up, hoping to find him still in earshot so I could yell curse words at him and see how smart he thought those quips were. But he was already in his truck and pulling away.
There were four envelopes now, and I tried not to look at them as I walked past them. I tried to figure out a place to hide them or possibly throw them away. But I did neither. I kept them there; the idea of tossing them didn’t sit well with me. They were my letters. They didn’t say much, but they were mine. They were about me. Something someone saw in me and thought enough about to write it down.
I might be done with Major Colt, but the letters were important.
No one had ever given me letters before. No one had taken the time to point out things about me that they had noticed. Even if my tight clothing was one of those things. It was something. Something more than I imagined anyone would say to me in such a unique way.
Written words were touching, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, they struck a chord in me. They made my walls crumble a little more with each note. They made me feel less untouchable and more real.
I wasn’t sure when the letters would stop. When he’d give up on me. I didn’t want them to. I was beginning to look forward to them. They were getting under my skin, and I wanted him to say something. Anything. Tell me why he was doing this.
But more than all that, I wished it was Gannon. And that was where my problem lay.
Major
I wasn’t doing that again. She had yelled at me and been furious yesterday. Waiting for Cope’s instructions was pointless. I was going after him to tell him how this wasn’t working and I needed to do things my way. Not his dumb-ass way. I probably wouldn’t call him a dumb-ass, though. I wanted to live. I liked life.
I just stared down at my envelope.
Later, when I found a moment to excuse myself and use the restroom, I pulled out the envelope I had tucked away in my purse. Surprisingly, no one had asked me about it. I got curious glances but nothing more. Sliding the familiar stationery out of the thick envelope, I read the words.
Tight clothes in all the right places. Another thing that makes you beautiful.
That was all it said.
Three envelopes, three messages, one of them insulting. Or so I thought. I wasn’t sure just yet. He could have mentioned my personality or my ability to make him laugh or my big heart. Snarling at that thought, I realized I was thinking about how Rush thought of Blaire. Not how someone thought of me. When someone thought of me, he thought of tight clothing, not big hearts.
I tossed my purse onto the bed, changed out of the clothes I’d worn to the market, and put on my pajama bottoms and a tank top. It was time for some Netflix and popcorn. I’d run later. I wasn’t in the mood to burn calories right now. I needed to sulk. I might even add some chocolates to the popcorn. I’d need to do a ten-mile hike later, but it would be worth it.
If I didn’t have to think about these damn letters and my lack of qualities to make me beautiful, then I’d be fine. I’d bet he wouldn’t like me in tight clothing if I gained ten pounds. I might eat myself fat. That would be a fun distraction. Maybe then I’d find a man who loved me for me. Not some stupid pretty boy who liked my tight clothing. Asshole.
Major
Three days, three envelopes later, and nothing. Not one damn thing. She wasn’t texting, calling, or hunting me down. Cope had no fucking clue how to hook a woman. I knew this better than anyone. I was the master manipulator. Why did he think he could send me on this ridiculous letter-delivery adventure and believe it would work? Apparently, whatever these letters said wasn’t enough.
Cope was a mean-ass, cold-hearted, lethal soldier. Not a Casanova. I had to figure something out, because his idea was a bust.
As if he was currently reading my mind, my phone buzzed.
Her house right now. Take the blue envelope.
Stupid bullshit. It’s obviously not working, I replied, sitting on my kitchen counter with a soda.
Do it was his response.
Fucker. I might hate the bastard.
I was positive I hated the bastard. Control freak.
Nan
My bowl of popcorn with milk chocolate morsels scattered throughout sat in my lap, and season three, episode five, of Gossip Girl played on my flatscreen. This was escaping. I was happy here. Like this. No damn letters showing up, no one watching me and judging me. Assuming they knew all about me when they knew nothing. Small-minded idiots. I needed a Chuck Bass. He’d get me. He’d understand me. We were one and the same, Chuck and I.
My doorbell rang, and I set my bowl of goodness to the side and sighed in frustration. This had better be good if it was interrupting my perfect afternoon.
I should have peeked through the hole or glanced out the window. But no, I was in a hurry to get rid of the person on the other side of the door. So when I opened it and Major was standing there with a blue envelope in his hand, I wanted to scream in frustration.
“What is with you and these damn envelopes? Is it not enough to hunt me down in public? You have to come after me in private, too? Maybe I could start texting you my daily whereabouts so you don’t waste your time tracking me down. Would that be helpful?”
I snatched the envelope from his hand, expecting him to respond. But he didn’t. He just turned and walked away. Again.
Damn him.
I tore open the envelope and pulled out the same stationery. The very sight of it was beginning to annoy me.
Smart quips. Another thing that makes you beautiful.
I jerked my gaze up, hoping to find him still in earshot so I could yell curse words at him and see how smart he thought those quips were. But he was already in his truck and pulling away.
There were four envelopes now, and I tried not to look at them as I walked past them. I tried to figure out a place to hide them or possibly throw them away. But I did neither. I kept them there; the idea of tossing them didn’t sit well with me. They were my letters. They didn’t say much, but they were mine. They were about me. Something someone saw in me and thought enough about to write it down.
I might be done with Major Colt, but the letters were important.
No one had ever given me letters before. No one had taken the time to point out things about me that they had noticed. Even if my tight clothing was one of those things. It was something. Something more than I imagined anyone would say to me in such a unique way.
Written words were touching, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, they struck a chord in me. They made my walls crumble a little more with each note. They made me feel less untouchable and more real.
I wasn’t sure when the letters would stop. When he’d give up on me. I didn’t want them to. I was beginning to look forward to them. They were getting under my skin, and I wanted him to say something. Anything. Tell me why he was doing this.
But more than all that, I wished it was Gannon. And that was where my problem lay.
Major
I wasn’t doing that again. She had yelled at me and been furious yesterday. Waiting for Cope’s instructions was pointless. I was going after him to tell him how this wasn’t working and I needed to do things my way. Not his dumb-ass way. I probably wouldn’t call him a dumb-ass, though. I wanted to live. I liked life.
