Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I’m about to pass Blackbear and Bad Intentions, and at the last second, I jerk the wheel, skidding into the dark parking lot. Empty. Quiet. Fully stocked with liquor. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.
I park, killing the engine, then jump out, fishing my keys to Blackbear from my pocket as I approach the door. A light shines from somewhere in the back, and I cup my hands on the glass of the door, trying to see inside. When I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, I shrug it off, turning the lock, then I close the door behind me. Someone must’ve forgotten to turn it off earlier. I go straight for the bar, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the shelf. I don’t get the lid off before I hear a faint noise from somewhere behind me. I pause, listening, scanning the dining area.
Quietly setting the bottle onto the bar, I start to move in the direction it came from. Just when I think I’m trippin’, I hear it again. A soft moan. My eyes snap toward the sound and I see something hanging off the edge of one of the booths. Grabbing my phone, I turn the flashlight on, seeing a foot. A woman’s dainty ass foot with black-painted toenails. The fuck? I trace up the body attached to said foot with my flashlight, only to realize it’s Allison. She’s lying on her side, headphones covering her ears, fists tucked under her chin, lips slightly parted.
What the fuck is she doing here? At first, I think she must’ve fallen asleep after her shift, but as I take in the scene in front of me, I know it’s more than that. Her open backpack is on the table with her toothbrush lying on top of a wad of clothes, and her boots with socks stuffed inside are on the floor next to her. I tamp down the urge to wake her up and ask what the fuck is going on and shoot off a text to Sully instead.
Me: Text your girl and find out where Allison lives.
Not thirty seconds pass before my phone vibrates in my hand.
Sully: Now?
Me: ASAP.
Minutes pass as I stare at her sleeping form, waiting for a response. Her hair is in a messy wad on top of her head, strands sticking out every which way. I can hear the faint sound of the song playing on her CD player that’s propped on top of the table. She looks so fucking serene, like she doesn’t have a care in the world, even though she’s posted up in a goddamn bar.
My phone vibrates in my hand again, lighting up with a text.
Sully: She was staying with Halston at her dorm until the RA kicked her out. Halston says she’s staying with some dude now.
Interesting. I work my jaw, having a good idea who “some dude” is. The only question is, why isn’t she there? Why is she sleeping in a fucking booth instead of a cushy bed? Trouble in paradise? I back away quietly as I came, as I start to formulate a plan.
“You hiring homeless people now?” I ask sarcastically. “You’re more desperate than I thought.”
“What are you talking about?” Lo asks, a frown marring her features, making her look more like our mother than I’d ever admit out loud. Those are fighting words.
“You didn’t know?” I play dumb. “Your girl Allison’s camped out in Blackbear right now, and from the looks of it, she’s been staying there for a while.”
“Allison? As in Allison Parrish, my server, Allison?” Lo seems shocked, but then I see the moment realization dawns in her eyes. “She’s stayed late almost every night this week. I figured she just needed a place to study, so I gave her keys.” She shrugs. “Doesn’t she live with her dad? Maybe shit hit the fan at home.”
“Her dad?” I didn’t realize she had a dad. I mean, everyone has a dad—except us, of course—but she’s never spoken about him and I’ve never seen him. I figured she was here by herself for school. “No clue. I barely know the chick.” Sort of the truth. I know her body, but I don’t know shit about her.
“Yeah, when I first started at Blackbear, she used to come in with her dad all the time. Haven’t seen him in a long time, though,” she adds as an afterthought. “Maybe I’m mixing customers up. But I could’ve sworn…”
I shrug. “Either way, you’ve got a stowaway.” I grab an apple from the bowl on her counter, taking a big bite before turning to leave, now that I’ve planted that little seed of information. Lo can’t resist helping an underdog. It’s an unfortunate side effect of growing up the way we did.
“When are you going to come home, Jess?” she asks grudgingly. I know it killed her to be the one to ask.