Bending Bethany Read Online Free

shower to wash away last night’s shame. After soaping up and rinsing off, I headed back for my room, spotting the clutch I’d used last night. I rifled through the contents, hoping it would jog my memory.  
    My phone, wallet—cards all still intact—ChapStick, keys, and a folded note.
    A note?
    I flipped it over in my hands and read the chicken scratch.  
    555-3434
    His phone number.  
    “Damn,” I said. This required I make a move. I didn’t have time for more, no time for dating. I had to keep my head in the game if I was going to graduate with honors.  
    I shoved the note back into the clutch, burying it where I wouldn’t have to be reminded of him. I stretched, falling back on the pillows and burrowing into the warmth of my blankets. My eyelids felt like they were weighted down with lead, the drinks from last night still pulsing through my bloodstream as a hangover took hold. I covered my head with a pillow and succumbed to sweet sleep, the only escape from him.
    “Bethany!” My sister’s scream shattered the precious cloud of sleep I’d been floating in the last few hours. I launched out of bed and down the hallway, my heart slamming against my rib cage expecting to find god knows what when I finally reached the living room.  
    “So, Jenson, anything you want to say to the fans after last night’s winning triple?” I froze, a familiar face splashed across the television screen.  
    “Yeah, actually. Thanks so much to everyone for supporting me. Your signs and cards and messages mean so much.” Jenson paused as my heart thundered in romantic beats. “And to the special girl I met last night…I’ve got something of yours I’d like to return. Call me.”
    I nearly crumpled to the floor as a wave of sheer embarrassment flamed my cheeks.  
    “Well, this just got interesting,” Taylor commented from across the room.  
    Mother. Fucking. Fuck.



Four
    Jenson
    It may have been a dick move, but I was desperate to get her attention. I knew she wouldn’t call. I knew when I had woken up and found her missing that the likelihood of her picking up the phone to call me was slim to none.  
    When I’d woke and saw her missing, I’d wanted nothing more than to find her. So I’d put on my sneakers and jogged down the street, aiming for the park, which is where I’d ran into that up and coming sports reporter. I’d seen him at a few games, and when his eyes had caught sight of me he’d jogged right up, phone held up and already recording.  
    The impromptu video interview was already hot fodder on the cable news networks by the time I’d returned from my jog. Even if she didn’t catch it on television, it would surely go viral on social media over the next few days.
    Flashbacks of last night bombarded my brain. Kissing her against the front door, bending her over my kitchen counter. I’d seen that wild, uninhibited look in her eyes and damned if I didn’t want to see it again and again. By the time the sun rose on the Manhattan skyline, I knew I needed her.
    I wanted more time with this girl. I loved when she’d ribbed me. Loved to be the butt of her jokes and the one to put that giant smile on her face.  
    Memories of last night flashed through my mind.  
    I was lucky to have even been out last night as I often preferred to keep to myself, but after the big win yesterday, the guys had convinced me to celebrate. I’d promised one beer, and I’d held my limit, but once my eyes had landed on the dark-haired girl with the bashful smile across the room, I’d known the night was over for me.  
    I wasn’t like Luc, interested in picking up girls, and getting rip-roaring drunk. I was happy sitting next to her at the bar, soaking up the glow about her, deflecting her barbs like a champ.  
    And it wasn’t often I had a mic shoved in my face—I avoided them if at all possible—but when the reporter had caught me on my jog in Central Park this morning and asked me a million questions about the