Crushed Read Online Free PDF

he’s practically been a part of the family since he and Kristin started dating when they were fifteen.
    He’s always been one of those easy, got-it-all-figured-out kind of guys, but tonight he’s acting weird.
    I look at my sister to see if she noticed, but she’s too busy wiping calories—and flavor—off her grilled chicken.
    Typical.
    After dinner, Kristin and I start to do the dishes, and Devon insists on helping, which is nice at first, but then I realize that it’s just a chance for them to grope each other while my parents finish their wine in the dining room.
    I should be used to it.
    I am used to it.
    But tonight, I’m just not in the mood. My head is pounding, my legs feel like they’re broken after that stupid workout with Beefcake this morning, and my heart . . . it just hurts .
    I make it through loading the plates and silverware into the dishwasher and then bail without guilt.
    It’ll be a fun project for Kristin, having to figure out how to get the gunk off the potato dish without ruining her manicure.
    I start to grab a Coke from the fridge, then hesitate as I imagine Michael St. Claire’s glare. I grab a Diet Coke instead.
    I don’t care about being skinny. Not that much, anyway.
    But I am tired of feeling out of control.
    Granted, a sugar-substitute beverage is not going to help me take over the world or anything, but still, it feels like progress.
    Baby steps, right?
    I head out to the pool, watching from the chaise longue as the last of the daylight fades away when someone plops down on the chair beside me.
    “Hey, Chlo.”
    Devon.
    Just like that, all the tension and headache melts away.
    He and I don’t often get time alone.
    Okay, hardly ever.
    But every now and then he seems to remember that we were friends long before my sister even knew he was alive, and I get rewarded with moments like these.
    Kristin-free moments.
    “Hey,” I say softly as he stretches out his legs on the chaise. He’s wearing green cargo shorts and I try hard not to stare at the shape of his calves, I swear, but I look anyway.
    Why is he so beautiful? And why do I have to notice?
    “Where’s Kristin?” I ask, trying to remind my lust-addled brain that Devon is not for me.
    I try to force my mouth to stop watering. It’s just his legs, for Christ’s sake. Hairy legs. Male hair is practically pubes . . . which so does not help my train of thought.
    “On the phone,” he replies. “One of her sorority sisters is having some sort of crisis.”
    “Probably a highlighting appointment gone wrong,” I say, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my knees until I remember that I’m wearing shorts and that the fat white underside of my thighs is exposed. I quickly extend my legs straight out, but that sort of makes the leg fat spread out like a beached whale.
    Lose-lose.
    I sigh and try to forget about it.
    Devon’s not paying any attention to my legs (of course), but he idly reaches out to take a sip of my Coke only to wince and make a face at it. “Diet?”
    “Mom buys it for Kristin.”
    “So why are you drinking it? You run out of the real stuff?”
    I don’t know if I love that Devon’s totally ignorant, or if I’m totally annoyed by it.
    I mean, on one hand I guess it says a lot about him that he doesn’t automatically assume that I’m drinking Diet Coke because I need to, well . . . diet.
    But on the other hand, come on, dude . You don’t think a girl with a few extra pounds isn’t highly aware that the nondiet stuff isn’t going to make her look good in a pair of skinny jeans any faster?
    I open my mouth to tell him this, but I hesitate.
    Devon and I haven’t talked about anything that personal in a long time.
    And I know that some people think the Holy Grail of friendship is being able to sit in comfortable silence with another person, and Devon and I have always had that, which I’m grateful for.
    But I don’t fool myself into thinking we’re besties.
    Once upon a time,