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LOVE IN C MINOR, VOLUME ONE
Seventeen-year-old Reagan seems like the perfect small-town girl. Dubbed a saint by her older brother, Lincoln, she serves the community, makes straight A’s, attends church, spends her summers working with special needs children, and is a piano playing prodigy.
When you’re the daughter of the mayor and the police chief in a sleepy Kansas town, toeing the line is easier than the alternative.
That is, until her brother’s best friend changes the rules.
Reagan’s been subject to Ridley’s antics her entire life. Growing up, he tormented and teased her, but he kept his distance—until now. When Ridley breaks a promise, late night phone calls and secret rendezvous in the haystacks quickly transform into a reckless, all-consuming love.
Some promises are meant to be broken. Some secrets will not be contained, and sometimes the consequences we render are more than we can bear.
Two realizations deprive my lungs of life-sustaining breath as I step onto my back patio for the first time in two months. First, the August air is abnormally stifling in Kansas today. And second, Ridley Goss—The Player, my brother’s best friend, my childhood tormentor, and star of my daydreams—is here. He’s also the guy who—judging by his current position—can’t keep his tongue out of Whitney Reisman’s throat. My chest aches. I’m sucking in my first deep breath since walking outside when a third realization punches me in the gut—life in Ellbury is exactly the way it was before I left.
Welcome home, Reagan Meeks.
It was foolish really, to assume anything here would change just because I had. I’ve spent the majority of the last three summers away. Nothing had ever changed when I returned to Ellbury. Well, nothing except for the start and demise of relationships. And the color of the Marshall’s house from beige to grey. So why did I expect this year to be different? Maybe because Wyatt Zimmerman opened his mouth and unraveled every decision I was once so sure of.
I should knock Whitney into the pool with my flip flop. Or maybe cannonball my body in the perfect direction sending an arc of water right where she stands. No, Reagan. That wouldn’t be very nice. But her bleached blonde hair should not cascade down her back so perfectly when she’s here to swim. Is she wearing makeup? Only Whitney, a self-proclaimed Queen Bee, would care that much. She should care a little less. My bonehead of a brother and his friends aren’t hard to impress.
My gaze strays to Ridley’s naked torso. His naturally tan skin is darker from the summer sun. When did he get here? Five minutes ago, I peeked out and it was Lincoln, Whitney, and her posse. How in the time I took to change did Ridley show up, get half-naked, and find himself mouth to mouth with Whitney? Plus, he has his guitar strapped around his back. Lucky piece of wood.