Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I peer at my scar, running a finger along it. Then I make a funny face. “Personally, I think it makes me look like a badass, and—”
“They shouldn’t have talked about you and Cooper like that,” says Vann, pressing on despite my effort at humor. “He’s not your sugar daddy. He doesn’t ‘spoil’ you. You are a model. And even if you were doing porn, so what? That’s your business. Porn actors are people too.” He huffs. “It was callous for them to say all that the way they did.”
I drop my hand from the scar. “We get looked at, Coop and I. I know that. Few understand us. I don’t even know if we understand us sometimes.”
“Doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.”
“Thank you anyway, Vann. For being a friend.”
He growls and peers back at the building. “I should go back in there and tell them that wasn’t right.”
“Nah, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Toby’s waiting for you, remember? Coop is likely going nuts at the Easy Breezy right now. Let it go.”
After a moment, Vann takes a breath, then turns back to me and nods. “I’ll let it go for now. Next time that shit happens around me, I’m saying something.”
“Thanks.”
Then we climb onto the bike together and off we go.
Usually when we head back to town from the college, we can tear down the causeway like bullets. But tonight—a Saturday night at the end of July—we find ourselves in a slow, noisy line of cars feeding themselves into the already crowded streets of Dreamwood Isle. It takes a full half hour for us to reach the back parking lot of the bar where Vann drops me off. I thank him for the ride there and back, then tell him to say hello to Toby for me. He gives me a smile before taking off, braving the uncharacteristically chaotic traffic tonight, and I’m on my own again.
I have to dodge crowds of people on my way through the doors of the bar, then find myself lost somewhere in the back of the room, overwhelmed by the amount of people. I can’t even see Coop until I stand on a chair in the back to get a view over the crowd. He’s in the middle of pouring shots when he spots me and gives a smile.
Everything feels better when he’s nearby. Not thinking about snide remarks. Can’t care less about sugar daddy this or spoiled that. It’s just me, Cooper, and our crazy life.
Our crazy, magical, unexpected life in Dreamwood.
I remember something about Mars being sick, which explains why there aren’t an extra set of hands helping out. So I jump right in and start bussing tables no one’s gotten to yet. Chase waves cheerily at me as he hurries by to take someone’s order. I bring a bunch of glasses to the back and start washing them. Duncan is the cook tonight, with a pair of ear buds shoved in, bopping his head to the music, with sweat dripping down his forehead. Chase falls behind with taking orders out, so I get on top of it. I’m not in a uniform. I have no nametag. I just do what needs to be done.
Later on, I push through the back door with two heavy bags of trash and cross the gravel toward the dumpster. Out here, it’s practically silent compared to the loud bar. Nearly peaceful. I toss the heavy bags into the dumpster with a grunt, then turn to head back inside.
A moving shadow in the parking lot stops me.
When I look, I see no one there.
I wait, listening. Only distant noise from the beach and the muffled sound of the crowd in the bar can be heard. I decide I’m being paranoid and keep walking—only to then hear the distinct sound of crunching gravel, like two short footsteps, followed by abrupt silence again when I stop. I turn around and look. No one. Not even a stray cat or dog.
It might be my imagination. Maybe it was something settling in the dumpster behind me. But the noises sounded too intentional and go away the second I look for them.
Is someone out there in the parking lot?
Not willing to find out, I race to the door, yank it open, and slip inside. The moment the heavy door slams shut at my back, I feel instant relief.
It’s just like that moment outside the movie theater. I thought I heard something. Thought I saw something. I’m convinced some instincts will never go away … no matter how deeply I bury that little demon of my past inside me.
I will always be wary of strange sounds in dark places, as if danger is lurking around every corner.
Creeping noises.
Whispers.
The distinct scuffle of a shoe along the ground, often the telltale noise of someone sneaking up on me while I’m clutching my belongings trying to get a wink of sleep on an old creaky park bench.