Love Me by Jillian Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

forearm. “I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s okay. The reason I’m telling you that is because my mom loved my dad, but now she’s with someone else. Someone she met and just knew was right. She says that sometimes life makes you wait for true love until you’re ready for it. Like all of the stupid mistakes you’re making now, when the right guy comes along, you’ll maybe have them all out of your system. If that makes sense. At least, I hope that’s what it means.”
    She leans back and looks up at my ceiling, like she’s saying a prayer or making a wish. 
    “Hey, there are glow-in-the-dark stars all over your ceiling. Did you and Katie do that?”
    I laugh. “Actually, your brother put them there.”
    “Oh, wow. He is totally wooing you. You should really give the boy a chance. Now, what are you going to wear?”
    I walk in my closet and try to stay calm. But it’s hard. 
    Because I. Am. Nervous. 
    Crazy, butterflies-in-my-stomach, strung-out, starting-to-sweat nervous. 
    Nervous that since the second he asked me on a sort-of date to a French restaurant my mind has been going to all those dreamy places. I’ve been writing scripts in my head about how he’ll take me to dinner and tell me I’m the one. That he made a wish on the moon. That it was fate that brought us together. That he wants to marry me. That he wants to grow old with me. 
    That he wants to kiss me with his tongue. 
    French restaurants and French kisses should be paired like a lamb chop and a vintage Bordeaux. 
    They. Belong. Together.
    And I could so belong to Aiden. 
    I should call Maggie. She knows Aiden’s past. Has anyone ever successfully moved out of the friend zone with him? 
    No.
    I can’t do that. I don’t want to know. 
    I don’t want to be like any other stupid girl. 
    I can’t even see my clothes. They have all just become a blurry colored background. Like a sunset. 
    Oh. My. God. 
    Everything—even my own closet—is plotting against me. 
    When has my closet ever looked like a sunset? Never. Never, ever. Ever. 
    Always. Only. Ever. For you. 
    “Can’t you find anything to wear?” Peyton says, pulling me out of my maniacal thoughts. 
    I look at my closet again. Take a whiff of it. 
    It sort of smells like Aiden. 
    That’s it!
    He was in my room putting up the stars. That’s why I can’t think. There must have been love potion still lingering in the air that got trapped in my closet.
    I walk out into my room, open my window, and take a deep breath of fresh, cleansing air. 
    “I think I almost have it figured out,” I lie.
    “You aren’t usually so indecisive. Here, I’ll choose one.” She wanders into my closet, flips through the rack, and pulls out a pale pink Marchesa organza ruffle dress with a black bow at the waist. “This is what you should wear. It even looks Parisian.”
    Oh, I can’t wear that dress. That’s the dress I’d been saving in my closet at home for the perfect occasion. I brought it here to give me hope. It’s the dress I thought I’d wear when I got my life back.
    I’ve even given the dress a little script. 
    We’ll go to Paris. Stay at the Four Seasons. Shop all the designer boutiques. Stop for tea and macaroons at Ladurée. Then, as I walk into Cartier, an amazingly hot guy—who, unbeknownst to me, is the prince of a small country—holds the door open for me. He whispers to me in a sexy accent. He tells me I’m beautiful, causing me to blush the exact same shade as the dress. He helps me pick out a fabulous piece of jewelry, then insists on buying it for me, telling me that the gorgeous gem pales in comparison to my beauty. 
    But, in all likelihood, that won’t happen any time soon.
    My mind flashes to me wearing this dress in my coffin, instead. After Vincent finds me, rubs his tattoo against me, and makes me film a movie. 
    I shudder. “You’re right, Peyton. That dress is perfect.”
    “You’re acting strange,” she says, scrutinizing my face. Then her