Read Online Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart by Tiffany Truitt - Free Book Online Page A

tonight,” I reply, unable to resist a bit of good old-fashioned ribbing.
    “You just love reminding me of that, don’t you?” She laughs.
    “She called you a pussy. It was epic.”
    “I prefer Le Chat,” she quips with a quick wink, and I full-out laugh. It’s nice that she’s actually having a little bit of fun instead of worrying if I’m going to straight-up dismember her. Not that I haven’t given her every reason to mistrust me.
    “I’ll make sure to remember that,” I reply. “As for the record player, I bought one a few years back. I hid it under the containers of rat poison in the storage closet.”
    Annabel’s eyes go wide as they dart around the room. “Rat poison? As in there needs to be poison because this place has rats?”
    “Most places have rats, or at least mice. Some even have cockroaches,” I singsong as I turn on my heels and head toward the closet. It takes everything in me to stop from teasing her again. Even without seeing her, I know she’s back to counting the number of steps it would take to make it to the exit.
    When I return holding the record player in my arms, Annabel is curled up so inside herself she’s practically disappeared. Hands folded under her arms. Arms wrapped around her chest. Feet turned in. Shoulders up to her ears. I’m about to tease her, but then I realize just how hard all of this must be for her. It’s so out of her comfort zone. And staring at her, looking at me wide-eyed, trying to force a smile, I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for her. How sad that she’s so scared of life.
    “I promise to protect you from all four-legged creatures,” I say, bumping my shoulder into hers as I set the record player on the counter she’s leaning against. My toes briefly touch hers in the process, and her eyes dart quickly away from mine as her cheeks turn the craziest shade of pink. Almost like the cover of David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane .
    I clear my throat, which has suddenly gone a bit dry. I make a mental note to protect her from all two-legged creatures as well. This is just the sort of scene I could totally get into. Dark room, surrounded by music, and a pretty chick to boot? But Annabel Lee isn’t that type of girl. Or at least I don’t think she is. Besides, that’s not what I brought her out here for. I have to keep reminding myself.
    Staring at her, her laugh still ringing in my ears, I realize I want us back. It’s not just about penance for the way I treated her. God, I missed this. The ease of talking with her. How much fun we had. I missed her . The moment I figure it out, I realize it will suck if she won’t let me back into her life. She’s not my Annabel anymore, and yet she is. It’s a puzzle. She’s not a girl, and she’s not a woman. It’s like living in Superman’s Bizarro World.
    “How about we listen to this bad boy?” I say, carefully reaching behind her to grab Bean’s Little Catherine without accidentally grabbing anything else in the process. Though to be honest, I do take a peek, and the girl’s got a nice backside. Even if it is covered in a T-shirt that’s nearly drowning her.
    Damn. I was wrong. She’s def a woman now.
    While Annabel doesn’t verbally answer, I think she nods. At least I sense some sort of movement next to me. I pull the record from its sleeve and place it on the player, hoping to Kanye it isn’t some song about the hippity-dippity. If it is, I’m pretty sure Annabel will head straight for the hills. Rats and sexual innuendos are just asking too much.
    Hippity-dippity song it is not. Instead the song feels like home. Every fall, Belltown holds the Highlander Festival. A three-day excuse to drink in the name of honoring our Scottish relatives. The town invites in musicians from the motherland to amuse the drunken bastards with songs lamenting the evils of whiskey and the English. Bean’s Little Catherine reminds me a bit of this, except less commercial. Not the standardized “Scottish sounds”