Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Right.” Affecting a serious face, Billy smacks his hands together. “So after Dad falls asleep, we start ripping out floorboards.”
As the boys argue about who gets dibs on any lost contraband they might dig up, I’m still trying to catch my breath. I guess I’ve never been good with change. I’m still fumbling to navigate my own transformation since leaving town.
Swallowing a sigh, I abandon my brothers and step into the hall—where my gaze snags on probably the only thing about this place that hasn’t changed one bit.
My ex-boyfriend Evan Hartley.
CHAPTER 2
GENEVIEVE
The guy’s got some nerve walking in here looking like that. Those haunting, dark eyes that still lurk in the deepest parts of my memory. Brown, nearly black hair I still feel between my fingers. He’s as heart-stabbingly gorgeous as the pictures that still flicker behind my eyes. It’s been a year since I last saw him, yet my response to him is the same. He walks into a room, and my body notices him before I do. It’s a disturbance of static in the air that dances across my skin.
It’s obnoxious, is what it is. And that my body has the audacity to react to him, now, at my mother’s funeral, is even more disturbing.
Evan stands with his twin brother Cooper, scanning the room until he notices me. The guys are identical except for occasional variances in their haircuts, but most people tell them apart by their tattoos. Cooper’s got two full sleeves, while most of Evan’s ink is on his back. Me, I know it from his eyes. Whether they’re gleaming with mischief or flickering with joy, need, frustration … I always know when it’s Evan’s eyes on me.
Our gazes meet. He nods. I nod back, my pulse quickening. Literally three seconds later, Evan and I convene down the hall where there are no witnesses.
It’s strange how familiar we are with some people, no matter how much time has passed. Memories of the two of us wash over me like a balmy breeze. Walking through this house with him like we’re back in high school. Sneaking in and out at all hours. Stumbling with hands against the wall to stay upright. Laughing in hysterical whispers to not wake up the whole house.
“Hey,” he says, holding out his arms in a hesitant offer, which I accept because it feels more awkward not to.
He always did give good hugs.
I force myself not to linger in his arms, not to inhale his scent. His body is warm and muscular and as familiar to me as my own. I know every inch of that tall, delicious frame.
I take a hasty step backward.
“Yeah, so, I heard. Obviously. Wanted to pay my respects.” Evan is bashful, almost coy, with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed to look at me under thick lashes. I can’t imagine the pep talk it took to get him here.
“Thanks.”
“And, well, yeah.” From one pocket, he pulls out a blue Blow Pop. “I got you this.”
I haven’t cried once since finding out Mom was sick. Yet accepting this stupid token from Evan makes my throat tighten and my eyes sting.
I’m suddenly transported back to the first time a Blow Pop ever exchanged hands between us. Another funeral. Another dead parent. It was after Evan’s dad, Walt, died in a car accident. Drunk driving, because that’s the kind of reckless, self-destructive man Walt Hartley had been. Fortunately, nobody else was hurt, but Walt’s life ended on the dark road that night when he’d lost control and smashed into a tree.
I was twelve at the time and had no clue what to bring to a wake. My parents brought flowers, but Evan was a kid like me. What was he going to do with flowers? All I knew was that my best friend and the boy I’d always had a huge crush on was hurting badly, and all I had to my name was one measly dollar. The fanciest thing I could afford at the general store was a lollipop.
Evan had cried when I clasped the Blow Pop in his shaking hand and quietly sat beside him on the back deck of his house. He’d whispered, “Thanks, Gen,” and then we sat there in silence for more than an hour, staring at the waves lapping at the shore.
“Shut up,” I mutter to myself, clenching the lollipop in my palm. “You’re so dumb.” Despite my words, we both know I’m deeply affected.
Evan cracks a knowing smile and smooths one hand over his tie, straightening it. He cleans up nice, but not too nice. Something about a suit on this guy still feels dangerous.
“You’re lucky I found you first,” I tell him once I can speak again. “Not sure my brothers would be as friendly.”
With an unconcerned smirk, he shrugs. “Kellan hits like a girl.”