My Dad's Bestfriend

Chapter 139 Hey Beautiful

Evelyn

Sixteen days had come and gone. Well, more precisely, sixteen days, eight hours, and forty-five minutes-I'd always been weak with numbers, but now I was sharp-pretty sharp. Thanks to Jacob, who might have messed up most aspects of my life, but inadvertently helped me strengthen my weakest point-math.

Did I owe him a thank you? Hell, no.

He'd shattered the most resilient part of my being-trust. Now, I knew better than to dole it out like candy on Halloween. There was a hundred percent chance it would get fucking trampled, just like that Italian bastard had done. He fucking ruined me.

God! I might never be able to fucking trust anyone!

With a groan, I rolled out of bed, my feet sliding into cozy slippers. I silenced the godforsaken alarm and stood up, stealing a glance at the mirror. The reduction in my dark circles was a welcome sign-I was making progress, and moving on. So were my dark circles, apparently.

Could I finally consider I was getting over him? Maybe, yeah.

My phone chimed, breaking the silence of the morning. Grabbing it from the nightstand, I unlocked the screen to find the familiar ID glowing-Cameron. Cameron Blake.

My newfound distraction.

I tapped into our conversation, and his text lit up the screen "Awake, beautiful?"

"Just stirring, Charmer," I replied.

"Just have to be enough of a charmer to charm you."

"Well, if you hadn't charmed me, we wouldn't be talking," I found myself smiling this time.

"I am flattered! Anyways, don't be late-I will be waiting for you at the cafe."

"I am never late."

That's why you made me

was to test

did I

Now bye-I gotta

resting on the desk this time and strolled into the bathroom. The warm water cascaded down in a proper shower-I shaved, shampooed, and cleansed every inch of my body, ensuring that when I stepped out, I exuded the sweet scent of

to mend her shattered heart after loving a man who treated it like dirt, crushed it underfoot, and laughed in my face.

these years, reaching out to me, felt like a sign. He remembered me from high school, where he saw me as the most beautiful girl in class—a perception I certainly didn't share, but perhaps in his eyes, I was. He was the nerdy, shy

how he looked

sparse on photos, with only a few decent side profiles, but I'd stumbled upon some abs pictures...and they were, well, you know enough to make a girl swoon, but still not

I even

me-the bitch in my head

dress, pairing it with beautiful red high heels. Grabbing a small beige bag, I quickly applied makeup, and styled

surveyed myself in th

mirro

futile attempt to escape thoughts of him. It helped me forget during the day but did nothing to spare me from the dreams where I found myself tucked in his arms

his arms around me. His scent. His breath against mine. His lips on mine. I missed him-every part of him. As mine. When

gaze flickered to

calling and texting incessantly, and I'd been avoiding him like the plague. I didn't want to talk to him, no matter how much I missed him. I didn't

I still couldn't help but check his messages every few hours. It became a habit. A knock on the

"Come in."

stunning,

only I can compliment that

a playful smile,

thought, why not make his evening?" I chuckled, "After all, my days are mostly spent dwelling on a jerk who didn't give

urged, trying to lift my spirits,

of my phone chiming. It was

looks like you're running