Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 119230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
She looks amazing, and I don’t even comment on the fact that she’s wearing one of my dresses. “What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting up on my bed and taking in the odd expression on her face. When Mom comes home from a date and she’s not beaming from ear to ear, it only ever means one thing—her date was an ass. “Did he call you a cougar like the last guy?”
Mom sighs and gives Erica a quick smile before welcoming herself into my room and dropping down beside me on my bed. There’s no doubt about it, my mother is stunning. I can only hope that I look this put together when I’m her age. With that long, blonde hair, dazzling blue eyes, and toned waist, any man would be lucky to have her. It’s all too common for her to come home after a date to tell me that some douchebag guy just saw her as a piece of ass to screw over for the night. She’s not down for that. She’s looking for a real connection, someone to build a life with and make her feel like the luckiest woman on earth.
Mom bites the inside of her lip, and I can’t help but notice the flicker of nervousness that settles deep in her bright eyes. Erica must notice it too as she excuses herself with some bullshit excuse about getting ready for bed, and I can honestly say that in the thirteen or so years that I’ve known her, she’s never once bothered with a bedtime routine.
“How was your night?” Mom asks, giving me a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Did you have a good time? I wasn’t expecting to see you home so soon.”
I shake my head, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Don’t even think about it,” I warn her. “What’s going on?”
She presses her lips into a hard line again, and if there’s one thing I know about Cara Ashford, she never hesitates, not unless it’s really fucking bad. The last time she hesitated to tell me something, she told me my brother had enlisted in the marines and was taking off for God knows how long.
“Honey, I …” she pauses, draping her delicate hand over my knee as if to somehow soften the blow for whatever’s about to come flying out of her mouth. “You know I’ve been concerned about the growing violence in our area. Gangs are starting to move in, and the kids are getting out of control.”
“Okaaaay,” I say slowly. This isn’t anything new. It’s been the same old crap for years.
“The attack on that poor girl a few weeks ago has really rattled me,” she continues, the memory of that night coming back to haunt me. “I know you may not understand this, but as a mother, I’m terrified. Do you know how easily that could have been you?”
I go to cut her off, but she beats me to it. “Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t at the party that night. I know you were, and I know you are careful, but it only takes one asshole to slip something into your drink. I just …” She pauses again, her lips pressing into a hard line as she slowly raises her gaze to mine, preparing to hit me with whatever it is she needs to say. “I was speaking with Orlando about it on our date. You know he’s a lawyer and had quite a bit of insight on the issue, and he agrees, this area is too dangerous for us now. What would we do if someone broke into our home? We have nothing to defend ourselves with, no way to protect ourselves. I’m always working, Brielle. You’re here alone far too often, and the idea of something happening to you has been eating at me.”
My brows furrow as I take her in, wishing she would just say whatever it is she’s trying to say. “Just tell me,” I insist, spying Erica at my bedroom door, unable to keep from listening in.
“Orlando has offered to move us into his home in Bradford, with him and his son, and I have accepted.”
I stare at her, my eyes going wide as I replay every word of what she just said inside my head. “Excuse me?” I breathe, hearing her but unable to comprehend what she’s actually saying. “You want us to move into his place?” I ask. “With his pervert son?”
“Oh, stop,” Mom says, immediately jumping to the dude’s defense. “Jensen is not a pervert. He’s perfectly acceptable.”
“Listen to you,” I scoff. “You even sound like a country club wife already. Where has my real mother gone? You and I both know that Jensen is a weirdo. It was no coincidence that he walked in on me in the bathroom at brunch last week.”