Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“You’re so lucky I didn’t shoot your sorry ass.” Jenna props her foot out, and my eyes flicker up and down her body; she’s only wearing thong underwear and a tight, sheer half tank. Fuck.
“You have a gun?” I spit out in a near screech, incredulously, averting my eyes.
“I have a Taser. But it’s hot pink and I’ve been dying to shoot someone with it. Bummer that’s it’s only you.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying.” Throwing on a short leopard-print robe that reaches her thighs, she ties the belt into a knot and turns to face me, arms crossed. “You really, seriously suck at this relationship crap, do you know that?”
Like I needed a reminder.
She continues. “Honestly, I’ve never seen such a bumbling mess.”
“Thanks.” Because really, what else is there to say?
“But it’s actually kind of sweet.”
My ears perk up.
“Even if you’re a little old to be so clueless.”
My shoulders sag.
“It’s a good thing we’re dealing with Abby here and not someone more sophisticated. She eats this shit up.”
Right. Okay, then. “Do you want me to help you with this?” I turn, bending to grab some of the curtains from the carpet.
“Dear God, no. Just go. Get the hell out of here.”
I gesture back and forth from the door to the window uncertainly. “Do you think I should...?”
Jenna rolls her eyes skyward. “Yes, go back out the window. If you knock on her door from the hallway it won’t be as romantic. Trust me.” She walks over and grabs the curtains out of my hands. “But take that stupid hat and hoodie off. She’s going to think she’s about to be raped.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Um, excuse me, was that sarcasm?” Jenna narrows her eyes. “You want me to Taser your ass?”
Wait. What? Panicking, my hands go up in a surrender. “No! I’m going. Jesus, stop trying to find an excuse to Taser me. I’m going.”
Abby: I THINK THERE’S SOMEONE OUTSIDE MY WINDOW!
Cecelia: Do you want us to come over?????!!! Call 9-1-1
Abby: This is FREAKING ME THE F OUT.
Abby: Know what? I’m just going to yell for Jenna. She just bought that Taser gun from some guy in an alley downtown.
Cecelia: Oh great. It’s probably a black market Taser that shoots STUN darts.
Cecelia: Um… I was just talking to Matthew and he says to wait on calling the cops….
Abby: Why would he tell me not to call the cops????
Cecelia: Remember that time he pretended to be a creeper at MY door in the middle of the night? Thought he was being romantic in a Shakespearean kind of way but really just scared the ever-loving SHIT out of me?
CHAPTER 32
ABBY
I hear the familiar grunt again, accompanied by the sound of metal being scraped along the side of my windowpane.
“Go. In. God. Dammit,” the voice curses gruffly in a huff, doing God only knows what to my window, a dim light flickering through my curtains, aimed at the bottom righthand corner of my window.
I bite my lip and pull the blanket up to my chin, debating.
I would know that voice anywhere.
Throwing back my blankets, I smooth down the shirt I’m wearing—Caleb’s shirt, the one I was wearing the last time I was with him, um, intimately. My legs are bare, but I move across the room toward the window, my heart beating so wildly in my chest that I pause, and press a hand to my breast to steady it.
The action does little to soothe me.
Pulling back the curtains, I unlatch the lock and crank open the window.
Crouching, I speak through the screen. “Caleb.”
“Holy shit, Jesus Christ! Abby, you scared the piss out of me.”
I ignore his startled litany of profanity and bring a hand to cover my mouth, chuckling. It feels good to laugh.
“I scared you? You’re the one trying to break into my room.”
“Yup.” His low, grumbly voice rises out of the dark, but he sounds oddly pleased with himself. “Wanna help me up?”
It only takes me a few seconds to decide my next course of action. Reaching down, I pop the screen out of its frame, then stand back as Caleb counts out a few bounces on his heels, and, like a gymnast, hoists himself up using only the strength from his upper torso.
Drool.
He hangs over the window frame, grunting, before falling to my carpet in a heap inside my bedroom.
I walk backwards in the dark and sit on the edge of my bed as he steadies himself and rises to his feet. Kicking off his shoes, he neatly arranges them next to the closet door.
The uncertainty of the situation while he busies himself is killing me, so I adjust my position on the bed restlessly, pressing my palms to my flaming-hot face.
“What are you doing here?” I ask nervously when he stands at his full height, his tall frame silhouetted by the full moon lingering high in the night sky.