The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(3)

And my life will shift.

This will change everything.





Chapter 1





Paige



I’m only half listening to Chandra bark orders over the phone.

“We’re going to need more food. The homecoming parties are always crowded. Sigma is coming, and they’ll easily push us over five hundred. And get more shrimp. You didn’t get enough shrimp…”

Somewhere along the way, she hung up. I must have said goodbye. I’m sure I said goodbye.

I hate her.

I hate her for what she did to my sister. I hate her for this invisible power she has over me because she’s the president of our sorority. I hate her because her boyfriend is friends with my boyfriend.

I hate her because part of me wants to be like her, and I hate her because the weaker part of me doesn’t.

And I hate the person I am when I’m around her. When I sent that photo, I hadn’t counted on the weekend. My wits were with me enough to do the right thing—for once in my goddamned life—but not with me enough to think about timing. The anxiety of everything unraveling is killing me, and every time Chandra calls, I expect it to be about that—about the photo.

The one I sent.

“Seventeen!” My number is called. Great…it’s the same guy working the deli counter today. He was the one who took my order for the party last week. Carson was with me. He was drunk…and an *. This guy, he knew Carson was drunk—and he judged me for it. Or at least, it felt like he did.

“I’m seventeen,” I say, stepping up to the glass case and handing over my number.

“I don’t really need the number,” he smirks. Maybe he doesn’t remember me. “Adding to your order?”

Shit. He remembers me.

“Yeah. Party just got a little bigger,” I say, smiling. I can’t help but smile at him—he has one of those faces. It’s like a forced reflection, and I want to mimic whatever he does.

“Okay, hang on. I’ll get the file from the back,” he says, patting the counter once and winking.

Houston.

I noticed his nametag the last time, too. I like the name. That’s why I noticed—not because he’s tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that flops over the top of his visor and green eyes practically glowing under the shadow.

I like the name. That’s it.

“Okay, let’s see…Paige. Right…I’ve got you here,” he says, pulling the pen from behind his ear and clicking it to take more notes. “What are you adding?”

“You better not have ordered yet!” Carson’s voice bellows from behind me. “Did she order yet? Get mine in on this ticket. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“I haven’t gotten lunch yet. This was just the party order, relax,” I say, turning to face him, dreading turning back around to Houston, the guy with the cute name. I turn anyway because I have no choice, and Houston is wearing that same look—the judgmental one.

“Order that crap second. I’ve got practice, so I only have a few minutes. Hey, yeah…get me one of those burrito things,” Carson says, leaning over the counter and pointing down as if Houston wouldn’t know what he was talking about. When he leans back on his heels, he lays his heavy arm over my shoulder and pulls me into him tightly.

“I guess I’ll have one of those too,” I say, my eyes on Houston’s nametag instead of his eyes. I don’t want to see the look in his eyes. I don’t even like burritos.

“We only have one left,” he says. Of course they do.

“Oh,” I suck in my top lip and look into the case of food for an alternative. I’m not hungry anymore. “I’ll just take a sandwich then. Tuna.”

“Right…okay,” he says, reaching to the side for a bag. He pauses, though, before picking out one of the pre-made sandwiches for me. “Or…maybe this guy could pick something else and let you have the burrito.”

“Fuck that, bro! I ordered first. Give me the burrito. She’s fine with a sandwich,” Carson says, his voice actually echoing. He’s so…loud. His phone rings, so he steps to the side and answers the call. “Yo, what up, man?”

I can still hear his entire conversation even though he’s twenty feet away. Everyone can hear him.

Houston is standing still, his arms propped on top of the counter and his brow bunched while he stares at my boyfriend. Carson is pacing and talking so loudly, he’s starting to interrupt others eating lunch at the small tables in the corner of the market.

I used to like his big personality. His confidence was what turned me on when we first met at the Sigma-Delta mixer. He’s a starter on the McConnell team, a fullback, and year older than I am—I liked that too.

Houston is moving again, wrapping the burrito and dropping it in a plastic bag. He lets the burrito hit the counter with a thud, and he watches Carson pace the entire time. When he sees his burrito is ready, he reaches across my body and grabs the bag, holding his phone to his chest and kissing me with nothing but forceful indifference. “I gotta run. You got this?” he asks…sort of.

I nod, only because he’s already gone before I could answer.

“That guy’s your boyfriend?” Houston asks, finally packing up my sandwich. Normally, I’d respond with something snarky, a confident quip would put him and that damned disapproving look in its place. I can’t seem to find that fire today.