Dirty Past Read Online Free PDF Page B

you.” I avert my eyes and dart through the door. But not quick enough, because I hear Sofie hiss, “Tate! What the hell did you do to her?” and him reply, “Nothin’!”
    I dump my half-eaten sandwich into one of the trash cans outside the arena and lean against the outside wall. The fresh air swirls around me, filling my lungs with a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness inside.
    Jesus. I have nothing to be afraid of. Except my own fears and my memories. Those I fear, even if he can’t touch me anymore.
    It’s still too real and raw to consider for a second that no one else will either, not the way Matt did.
    Note to self: work on the scared little girl routine. She isn’t the girl inside. She’s the girl the outside has been molded into. She’s the perfect, smiling, charming trophy-wife-to-be.
    Inside, she’s different. I’m different. Maybe I don’t know exactly who I am yet, but I know I’m not afraid.
    Fear is a habit.
    And I will break it.
    A soft knock at the door jolts me from my mindless staring at the TV set mounted on the wall of my suite. After the showdown with Tate—which I’ve definitely made more frightening in my mind since—I’ve felt nothing but fear pumping through my body. Every voice outside my door was Matthew coming to find me, and every knock at the door was him finding me. So for all my bravado, the past has crept in.
    I’ve been sitting curled in a ball, watching reruns of sitcoms and game shows, attempting to remind myself that the voices outside the door were Dirty B. and Co., and the knock on the door was just room service with my nachos.
    “Ella? Are you there?” Sofie calls, knocking again.
    I swallow, swing my feet down from the sofa, and cross the room quickly. I pause, my hand hovering just above the handle. Dammit, I wish there was a peephole.
    Opening the door, I offer a small smile. “Hi. Sorry. I was just getting dressed.”
    Sofie glances at my yoga pants–clad legs. “Into yoga pants?”
    “Err . . . I was half out of them. It was easier to put them back on.” I shrug sheepishly and step to the side. “Is everything okay?”
    Sofie nods, smiles, and drops onto the sofa. “I was just coming to tell you we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
    “Oh, all right. I’ll just get ready.”
    “Um, are you okay? I know you were sick yesterday, and I didn’t want to bother you then, but, well, my mama instincts are coming out here, and I’m kind of worried because I didn’t hear from you.” Her smile turns hesitant.
    “Oh—oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you.” I tuck some hair behind my ear and look down. “I took it easy when I came back here.” Note to self: whenever a “thing” needs doing and you fake sickness, text Sofie.
    “Oh, good! If your headache comes back today, let me know and you can take ten.” She smiles. “I’ll let you get ready.”
    “Thanks.” I turn back to my room.
    “Shorts! Shorts,” she calls after me. “And tie your hair up. They’re crazy on these days, and all the runnin’ around makes you hot.”
    “Got it.” Now to find the clothes I was supposedly just getting changed into.
    Thankfully my suitcase is open, because I’m too lazy to keep zipping and unzipping it—and I’m reveling in the newfound freedom of everything not having to be completely perfect like before.
    And, yes, that is yesterday’s shirt peeking out from beneath the desk. It’s invigorating.
    I flip the top of the suitcase and push my things around inside until I find some denim cutoffs. Grabbing a loose, light pink shirt and underwear, I straighten and change quickly. I keep Sofie’s words in mind as I brush my hair and tie it in a scruffy bun.
    “Hey, are you good?” Sofie peeks her head around my bedroom door.
    “Oh, yeah.” I look across the room at her with my mascara wand in my hand. “What’s up?”
    “I . . . um.” She walks through and perches on the edge of my bed. “Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,