South Row by Ghiselle St. James

overkill. The quivering lip? You brought out the big guns?” Connor laughs. “Just ask for my help and stop being a little girl,” Connor jokes.
    “Are you going to help me or not?”
    “I’ll help you, Colline .” He stands and so do I. “If only to keep that pathetic look off your face and keep you from growing ovaries,” he settles.
    “Yeah, whatever, fucker,” I mumble. “Thanks, bro.”
    “Just work on not hurting her again, will ya? Next time I don’t think I’ll be so restrained,” he advises. “And…don’t string Kaylee along. You have a decision to make.”
    Don’t I fucking know it? Question is: how am I going to do it without backlash fro m Liam?

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    How do people focus when they’ ve had their hearts ripped out from their chests? I haven’t had the experience of heartbreak to know the answer to that. Sure, I’d kissed a few frogs who tried to take things further than second base. But this pond had been closed off, because her depths belonged to only one amphibian. Her frog Prince. Who turned out to be. Just. Another. Motherfucking frog!
    So, I’ ll ask my question again. Maybe word it a little differently. How do people handle a broken heart?
    Today is not a good day. At all. Heck, the past two days have not been good days at all. Being rejec ted and finding out the guy you’re in love with is engaged is enough to send anyone jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. I won’t lie, I contemplated it, but remembered I hate heights.
    I was devastated. So devastated that I fainted. When I came to and found myself in his arms, I almost smiled. But then all the pain and humiliation came flooding back and I lashed out at his handsome face. He was shocked. Hurt, maybe. But I didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Being in his arms was just too much and I had to create distance. Despite the hurt and anger, having him touch me still sent jolts of desire through my body.
    My body was a traitor. And as punishment, when memories of Collin and what he did to my body surfaced and settled heat in the pit of my stomach, I withheld giving my body pleasure, refusing to use my vibrator all night. Muhahahaha!
    But that quickly backfired when I woke up this morning crabby, exhausted and wound tight. So I’ve been slamming all the doors in my tiny apartment, throwing dishes and breaking them, snapping at people, including innocent children.
    One kid came up to me and asked me to buy Girl Scout cookies. I grabbed the cookie from the poor girl, shoved a dollar in her little palm and told her that if she tries to spread her little happiness around here again, I’d ruin her little cookie peddling business. Needless to say, the little bitch kicked me in the shin and ran away. I like her.
    My day didn’ t improve once I got to school either. As fate would have it, this was a practical day in French cuisine. My oven mitts caught fire. I spilled sugar on the floor. I almost sliced my thumb off, only managing to nick the tip – talk about luck. If not for my friend, Jude, looking out for me, my mille-feuille would've been ruined.
    Chef Barón, upon seeing my lack of focus, told me to take the day off after he sampled my pastry. He gave me good marks, but they weren’t as good as I’d normally get. I stripped the apron over my head, tugged the neckerchief loose, packed up my left-over Napoleon – because Scott and Lydia would kill me if I didn’t bring them each healthy slices of the sweet treat – grabbed my messenger bag and headed home.
    So here I am on a cable car, seriously distracted and – great, fucking perfect – missing my stop. Pulling the cord to signal a stop, I amble off the car and decide that it is better I walk off my distractedness. I want to get Collin off my mind. I have to; plus, I need to be ready for that private party Trace is keeping for that guy tonight. I have already got my routine down, so I’m not nervous in the least bit to dance for a high roller. In fact, just thinking