Page 4 of I Wish I Would’ve Warned You (Forbidden Wishes #3)

EMILY

M y fingers hover over the send button for what has to be the millionth time.

Hey, Cole. It’s Emily. (The ‘not’ a lot lizard from weeks ago)

No, no.

I delete it and try again.

Still alive? That makes one of us.

Delete.

I don’t know why, but… I honestly can’t stop thinking about you.

Hard no.

I shut down my text messages altogether.

I’m sure that a guy like him has met plenty of other girls in the three weeks since we met and has options stacked like poker chips.

I toss my phone into my bag, pissed at myself for even trying. Then I turn off the dryer at the laundromat and stuff my clothes into a bag.

Tucking the wash card into my pocket, I lug the bag over my shoulder and head across the street to my shared motel room.

The moment I near our door, the scent of waffles and coffee smacks me in the face, which can only mean one thing:

We’re moving... again.

I groan and unlock the door, coming face-to-face with a scene I know all too well.

My mom is setting up our Waffle House order on the desk that doubles as our dining table. She’s even placed a treat on the TV stand for me: chocolate strawberries.

That’s always the “please don’t hate me” cherry on top.

I join her at the table, saying nothing.

“You haven’t brought up Sean to me in a while,” she says. “Did something happen between you two?”

“He showed me his awful true colors. It’s over.”

“Aw, well, hon, he seemed like a really nice guy to me. Don’t write him off after one bad date, if that’s what you’re saying.”

I take a gulp of coffee to stop myself from elaborating.

“I have a surprise for us!” She clasps her hands together. “Guess what?”

“We’re getting a puppy.”

“Ha! No. Try again.”

“We’re getting a new car?”

“Oh, Emily.” She laughs harder. “We’re moving!” She jumps up and does a little dance, like this is the first—and not the sixteenth—time we’ve moved in the last four years.

“That’s amazing.” I feign excitement.

“Right? So after you eat breakfast, go ahead and get packed.”

I nod, even though I never really unpacked.

“Where are we going now?” I ask.

“Across the bridge to a suburb right outside New York,” she says. “It’s about an hour away, but it’s a beautiful place you can invite your friends to see, so you won’t lose complete touch.”

Right… “Is it a hotel or a motel?”

“Neither.”

“An apartment?”

“Nope, it’s not that either.” She pauses for several seconds. “It’s a house!”

“Really?” My eyes widen. “How big is it?”

“Huge.” She stretches her arms wide. “It has an outdoor pool, a garden, and a library!”

“How?” I arch a brow.

“What do you mean ‘how,’ Emily?”

There’s no nice way to say: Your credit is shot to hell, mine is too because of you, we don’t have money, and we can barely afford an apartment complex with a shared pool, so how the hell are we affording a HOUSE?

“I mean…” I clear my throat and go with the softer option. “It just sounds too good to be true.”

“Well, it’s not.” She beams. “It’s all our dreams coming true, because it’s a real house... My boyfriend asked us to move in with him!”

So, it is too good to be true.

“The ‘Aidan’ guy you just started seeing?”

“I’ve been seeing him since we first moved here, Emily.” She clasps my hand. “He came into the diner every day for two weeks just to see me. I told you he’s taken me on the best dates of my life.”

A lump rises in my throat.

My mom falls hard and fast, and our lives always revolve around whoever she’s dating—or not dating. It’s been like this since I was born—since she was barely older than I am now.

“I’ve been to his place tons of times and you’re going to love it.” She’s still talking. “When he found out where we were staying, he said no woman he loves should live in a motel. He demanded that we move in with him.”

“How thoughtful.” I swallow the lump and mentally repeat the lines that keep me grounded.

Your gap year will be over soon. You’ll be going to college. You’ll be somewhere safe, somewhere semi-permanent.

Her phone suddenly buzzes, and she drops my hands.

“This is him!” she squeals, darting into the bathroom like a teenager. She slams the door, and just like that, my appetite vanishes.

I reach into my purse and pull out my “Forever Moving Checklist” notepad.

Stuffing shirts into one of my duffel bags, I double-check my sweaters and make a mental note to buy new bras and panties.

“He’s so excited to meet you.” My mom steps out of the bathroom, her whole face glowing. “This is going to be amazing!”

I can’t fake another smile, so I remain focused on packing and count out my pairs of jeans.

“So, Emily,” she says, plopping down on my bed with stars in her eyes, “I know you haven’t had sex yet—and you should totally wait until you’re ready with the right guy—but when you do… try to find a guy who fucks you like Aidan fucks me.”

What the hell? “Eww!” I smack her with a pillow. “I do not want to hear about your sex life, Mom. Ever.”

“There’s this thing he does with his tongue when I’m riding him?—”

“If you actually finish that sentence, I’m calling Child Protective Services and telling them the real reason I had to miss my senior year of high school.”

“Fine.” She laughs, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’ll go move our car.”