Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“He said you two had a fight and you left it at the restaurant. He went out looking for you and told me to keep it charged in case you called. Are you okay?”
This wasn’t good. I should call Hale, and I would, as soon as I learned his phone number. “Elle, I need you to bring me my phone.”
“Where are you? I need an address.”
I looked around and saw a hotel in the distance. I told her to bring my phone there. When I hung up, I thanked the man who helped us. He wished us luck.
“You know, you could have just asked her to come pick us up. If Elle’s coming here to drop off the phone anyway—”
“That would never work.”
“Why?”
“Because, Barrett. Trust me. I know things.”
“True.”
It was back to us versus Brooklyn. Thank god we had beer to stay hydrated.
“Holy crap, I’m tired,” I said, after trekking several blocks and not seeming to get any closer to the hotel where Elle was delivering my phone. She was probably already there and waiting. “It didn’t seem this far away when we called her.”
“Do your blinks have a sound?” Barrett contorted his face, winking obnoxiously.
“I need food.”
“You’re a bottomless pit.”
“I didn’t have a hotdog like some people.”
“My back hurts.” He rubbed a hand over his ass and winced. “I think something bit me.”
“I’m pretty sure my toes are bleeding.” I had literally walked from Queens to Brooklyn in four inch heels.
“Let’s sit for a while.”
“Okay.”
We sat on the curb in between parked cars, I leaned forward and waited but nothing happened. What were we waiting for? My mind started to wander.
“Do you ever think about math?”
Barrett lounged back on the sidewalk. “You mean, like, adding and subtracting and stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s so…poetic. And dependable.”
I took a moment to really let my newfound respect for arithmetic process. I was nearly moved to tears until I remembered that math doesn’t lie. That got me thinking about numbers which made me think about money, which inevitably reminded me of my dad.
“Do you think Hale will blame me?”
“For what?”
“My dad. He’s not my friend anymore.”
“My dad’s never been my friend.”
I gasped in shock. “Remington loves you, Barrett.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I shoved him. “He does!”
He shook his head. “My dad doesn’t love anyone but himself. He thinks of all of us as assets, little extensions of his empire—”
“That’s not true!” I pulled on my earlobes, because it made my jaw feel really good. “An artist doesn’t have to paint masterpieces to love painting. Your dad might never master parenting, but he still loves you in his own Remington way.”
“That’s deep.”
“I know. I’m like a modern day Socrates.” I leaned back to lay by his side. “Not my dad, though. My dad definitely doesn’t love me.”
Barrett twisted awkwardly and looked down at me. “I love you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Screw your dad. You’ve got us for family.”
“I’m not going to cry over him anymore. I’ve made up my mind and I’m done.”
“Good.” We stared up at the morning sky. “I haven’t cried in years. Did you ever see that Budweiser commercial with the cowboy and the dog? That was the last time I cried.”
A wheezy laugh crackled from my chest and I couldn’t stop. “A beer commercial?”
“That horse and dog loved each other!”
I turned my head, my hair clinging to the pavement. “You’re a lot deeper than people realize.”
“People think I’m shallow because I’m beautiful.”
“Must be tough.”
“Like you don’t know. You’re pretty as hell.”
“Yeah right. I’m awkward and clumsy and most days my clothes don’t match.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’ve got eyes and legs and all the right pieces.”
“Ears.”
“Exactly.” A flock of pigeons cooed from the soffit of the buildings. I hummed, completely relaxed. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“It really is.” He dragged a hand over his forehead. “What is that?”
“What?”
He sat up and touched his head. “Something’s in my hair.”
I groaned and sat up. “Looks like fluff. Did you have fluff?”
“What the fuck is fluff?”
Remembering that there was a lot of junk food the Davenports had never heard of because they grew up with private chefs, I quickly explained. “Oh, it’s gooey marshmallow stuff you put on bread with peanut butter. It’s so freaking good.” I sniffed the clump of goop in his hair. “But this is bird shit, not fluff.”
“Aw, man.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it out.”
Sometime later we were standing inside of a bank. A woman in a snappy business suit looked up at us from her desk. “I’m afraid you have to leave.”
“Can we use your bathroom? He has bird poop in his hair.”
The woman glanced at my unicorn shirt and dirty shoes. “No. You have to leave.”
I looked up at Barrett, who wasn’t handling this well. “What do you mean, no? Don’t you have a soul? A bird pooped on my hair!” He’d wrapped his tie around his head like Rambo. “What? It’s to stem the bleeding.”