Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Got you something,” Landon says, setting an Oreo McFlurry on the table and pushing it toward me.
“You bought that for me?” I ask, picking the ice cream up and assessing it. He must’ve heard me, even though Richie didn’t. Landon and Richie have been friends ever since Landon moved here last year, but he’s never really paid any attention to me since Richie and I started dating. So I’m kind of shocked he got me this.
“They made the wrong one.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I ordered Butterfinger.” He shoots me a wink, and I push away the butterflies that have made a sudden appearance in my belly.
What the hell? Where did that come from? Landon Maxwell does not give me butterflies. Sure, he’s your typical handsome all-American jock with his shaggy brown hair and sparkling brown-green eyes, and yes, he has better defined abs than most grown adult men. But in the last year since he moved here, I’ve never given him a second glance. His flirtatious charm might affect every other girl at this school—even though he never dates or hooks up with any of them—but it doesn’t affect me. At least, it didn’t…
“Thanks,” I say, taking a bite as I watch him take one of his own.
I glance over at Richie, who’s talking to Melissa and a couple other people about the party that’s going on Friday night. In the small town we live in, just outside of Boston, there’s almost always a party going on.
“Hey, Harper, you still grounded?” Melissa asks with a saccharine smile. She already knows I’m grounded, thanks to her. She begged me to sneak out last weekend to meet some friends at the beach when she was spending the night, and my mom caught us coming back in. I got my car taken away and have to be home by six o’clock every night. The worst part is, I didn’t even want to go. And since I was driving, Melissa got trashed, while I played DD. I told her several times to slow it down, but Melissa only has one speed: fast. And on the way home, she threw up all over the floor of my car. The smell is never going to go away.
“You know I am,” I say dryly. “I know you were trashed that night, but even you must remember throwing up all over my front seat before we pulled up to my house and got caught.” When she looks away, still laughing, I roll my eyes.
Landon chuckles. “With friends like her, who needs enemies,” he murmurs, bringing his spoon up to his mouth. I never noticed how full his lips are. His tongue darts out to lick the ice cream on the spoon, and for a moment I imagine that same tongue running up the side of my neck.
Holy shit, Harper! What is going on? It must be the heat in here. It’s chilly outside, so it’s warm inside. It must be making me delirious.
Needing to take my eyes off Landon, I glance over at Melissa, who’s laughing at something Richie’s just said. Her head is thrown back like whatever he told her is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, which is such bullshit, because I know for a fact Richie isn’t that funny.
“You realize she has a thing for your boyfriend, right?” Landon says.
His words make me stop and think. If he’s come to that conclusion, I wonder how many of our other friends have as well. I glance back over at Melissa and Richie, expecting to feel a pang of jealousy or anger over them openly flirting with each other, but for some reason, I don’t really feel anything. And that realization has me questioning myself more than them.
A minute later, Melissa stands and walks over to the other side of the table. She plops down on another guy’s lap and wraps her arms around his neck. He says something in her ear and she laughs loudly.
“She’s just a flirt,” I tell Landon. “She’s always been one.”
Melissa and I met the summer before our sixth grade year. I had just moved here from out of town, and Melissa was walking around the neighborhood with Richie and her twin brother, Dennis. When she saw me sitting in my front yard, she invited me to hang out with them. They were walking to the neighborhood next door so the boys could play ball. From that day forward, we’ve been inseparable.
Melissa is what you call an acquired taste. She’s a shameless flirt, says it like it is, and has no problem being the bad guy. If you’re not her friend, you’re her enemy. My mom hates her and thinks she’s going nowhere fast. Most days I don’t mind her craziness, but some days, when she treats me like I’m the enemy—when I’m probably her only real friend—I wonder why I even bother to put up with her.