Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Disappointed?” An insolent smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
I see I’m getting the Royal Bitchiness version of her today.
“Never.” I unleash a charming Cole Man smile.
“I’m gonna go make myself scarce,” Jaime mumbles, shaking his head behind boxes laden with food and drinks. Bailey juts one leg out, showing me that her new skirt is about six inches shorter than the one Old Bailey wears. Not gonna lie—New Bailey is a fucking hot new nightmare.
“Got your text, Levy,” she purrs. “Sorry, I’m super busy. Let’s try to get together later this week.”
Later this week? This little shit needs permission from her parents to go to the bathroom.
I run a hand over my buzzed scalp. “Is this how we’re playing now?”
“Oh, Levy.” She throws her head back, laughing. “I’m not playing games. But if I were? You’d be the pawn. Ta-ta, now!”
She blows me a kiss, then blows me the fuck off as she darts inside. Her tone is so airy, so casual, so unlike her, I’m tempted to turn around and throw the towel. She’s pretty but also horrible. No pussy is worth this kind of BS. But then I remind myself that somewhere inside this idiot is my best friend in the whole entire world.
On my way back to the garage, I calm myself down. If I were to find out she has a secret boyfriend, heads would roll. Of course, I’m actually in love with her, but that’s beside the point.
When I get to the Bugatti, I kick it so hard I leave a dent on the front bumper.
Motherfucker.
Whoever invented love was one sadistic son of a bitch.
The same evening, I send Bailey a chain of unhinged text messages.
Lev: If this is about Thalia, may I remind you you BEGGED me to move the fuck on?
Lev: On your knees and shit.
Lev: Not how I imagined seeing you on your knees, btw. You owe me a fantasy.
Lev: Something tells me these texts are not serving their purpose.
Bailey: Is that something your singular functioning brain cell?
Lev: Jesus, Bails. What are you addicted to? Witch potion? You’re a meanie when you’re in withdrawal.
Bailey: This conversation is over.
And it is, because a second later, I hear a splash on my window and see an egg dragging down it. She’s egging my fucking house. The girl who used to get riled up about TP-ing houses because it’s not environmentally friendly and can make squirrels choke or whatever.
A glutton for punishment, I visit her the next day.
And the next-next day.
And the one after that too.
Not because I care about the twisted version of her I’m seeing on the reg, but because I want to save the Old Bailey from the girl who hijacked her body.
Dove is full of excuses. And bullshit. One time she’s practicing downstairs; the other she is online tutoring kids who struggle at math. At this point, she’d rather eat a cake made out of all the dirt under the Kardashians’ fake nails than give me the time of day.
I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Unfortunately, Mel and Jaime are always around. And there’s something else standing in my way—I’m not an abusive asshole.
I don’t think she’s using, but the truth of the matter is, she doesn’t look like herself. Something’s off. Her eyes are glazed over, her skin is gray; she’s a static radio sound. A fuzzy-screened TV. Just because you’re drug-free, doesn’t mean you’re not an addict.
Bailey is in some kind of limbo, and I want to help her, but I’m also growing tired of feeling like a pathetic puppy.
Actually, I’m tired of feeling, full stop. She makes me feel. And I cruised through the last several months being comfortably numb.
The St. John Bosco game comes and goes, and we actually win, albeit out of sheer luck. Coach is still pissy with my ass. I miss practices left and right, locked up in the attic with my aviation simulator and working on my cars with the garage door open in a bid to catch a glimpse of my neighbor across the street. Grim takes advantage of my absence and apparently leads warm-ups and acts like the captain.
I feel like Bailey’s demise is going to be my demise too, and it pisses me off that she didn’t keep her shit together for both of us.
Four days after Thalia told Bailey I’m stuffing her muffin, I catch Bailey in a compromising position. Unfortunately, a partially clothed one. Spot her through my bedroom window, sunbathing topless.
Since Bailey is not in the habit of showing her tits to her parents, I take it her dad is at work and her mom is away. At the sight of her tits, my dick gets so hard I have to squeeze it to relieve the pain. She’s alone and this is her way of inviting me over. I know because she’s been playing the sex-kitten game ever since she arrived here. I oblige, even if I’m not sure if I hate or love her at this point.