I Wish I Would’ve Told You Read Online Whitney G

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden, New Adult, Sports Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 54383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)

It’s better if you go in BLIND, trust me…
But if you *have* to know what you're getting yourself into, you can read the synopsis below.

She lied to me.
Not once, not twice.
This entire time.

To her, I was the "cliche Mr. Popular," the star quarterback who owned Friday nights.
To me, she was the goth geek in the bleachers, playing clarinet in the band.

Despite our differences, I climbed through her window every night.
Even when we started college.

She was the only person who truly understood me, and I couldn't stay away from her if I tried.
Our connection was hot and toxic, but we never dared to put out the flames.

We fell too hard, too fast…
And this wouldn’t have been a problem except for the fact that I was already dating someone else.

Her sister.

See? That’s why you shouldn’t have read this blurb and went in blind. Alas, this is an emotional ride of a romance with toxic undertones that will drive you to some unexpected places. The author just felt like writing this story one day, so don't say you weren't warned about what you were getting into.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



I swear I didn’t mean to send him that letter.

Yes, I revised it fifty-seven times, spent eighteen days fretting over which envelope to buy, and paid for first-class postage, but I didn’t really intend to drop it into a postal box.

It was supposed to be a simple “cathartic exercise” to heal old wounds. Yet, after penning letters to every person I’d ever hurt, I set aside several blank pages for him.

I wrote down all the ways I missed him and asked if he missed me, too. I told him that whenever I’m lying in bed at night—despite whatever guy may be sharing my sheets—I can’t help but remember all the times he handled me better.

So much better.

He bent me over our high school bleachers after the home games. Made love to me in the backseat of an old-school Mustang. Devoured me in his father’s office while the mistress cooked in the kitchen downstairs.

I penned rambling paragraphs of things I never wanted to forget and others that were better left unsaid. On page seven, my teardrops marred the lines so terribly that the sentence “I was so lonely,” read like “I was so horny.”

Then again, page eight featured nothing more than a drunken drawing of the time we were thousands of miles apart during one summer, so he’ll probably interpret it the proper way.

None of those things concern me, though.

The problem is on page eleven.

Sixteen lines down, in the second to last paragraph, is a sentence that unravels every lie I’ve ever told him. It’s the one thing that will obliterate ‘us’ the moment he reads it.

The post office sent me a delivery confirmation minutes ago, so I’m standing outside our old meetup spot with gasoline and matches.

It’s almost time.

I’m prepared to set our world on fire before my words can beat me to it…





Assuming you’re a good person, if someone close to you is dating a guy you desperately want, but she isn’t willing to give him up, which of these would be your next move?

A) Let it go. Spend your time trying to find someone else.

B) Fight. Because you truly believe this guy belongs to you.

C) Explain how this guy is your soulmate and hope your friend will let go of him and understand.


None of these.

A “good person” would never be in a situation like this.



Dear Carly Hills,

I was the one who stole your Prada purse during our junior-year class trip. I didn’t take anything out of it, though. I just tossed it into the Blackwater River because I was tired of you calling me a “Wednesday Addams looking bitch.”


Well, not really.

Wish I Would’ve Told You,


My date’s breath smells like Doritos. Not the good Cool Ranch flavor, the stale Nacho Cheese kind that should’ve been banned from production decades ago.

We’re sitting in his car as it rains, and I’m wondering why he chose to wear a “Bros before Hos” t-shirt tonight. I’m also confused as to why he’s staring at me with desire in his eyes when the only thing we have in common is our eye color.

“You’re really mature for a high school girl,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to know anything about classical music.”

I smile. “I’ve been playing violin and clarinet since I was four.”

“That’s very impressive.” He pulls my head a bit closer. “So, that means you have some amazing strumming and fingering skills?”

“Um…I guess so.”

“I’ve never played any instruments, but I bet you’d be impressed with my strumming skills on your body.”

Why did he just stretch out the word ‘body’ like ‘bahhh-deee’?

“I hope you had a good time with me tonight.” He saves me from asking. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.”