Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Heat trickles over my cheeks and I turn my full attention to spreading top coat on each nail.
“Molly?” she prompts.
“Maybe a little.” I concentrate on my pinky like my life depends on it, gently dabbing the wide brush over the nail.
“You’re killing me, girl,” Hayden groans. “Killing. Me.”
Laughing, I cap the bottle and turn toward her. She crosses the room and perches on the edge of my bed.
My gaze strays to the door. “Griff and I kinda kissed a little last night.”
“Kinda. Kissed.” Her brow wrinkles as if she’s disappointed with the most monumental thing that’s happened to me in, well, forever.
Even though she’s my best friend, I can’t share more details about my stolen moments with Griff. They’re mine. Ours. Precious memories. Not something to giggle over and dissect. Plus, no matter what Griff said, I’m still a little embarrassed about what happened in his car.
“You’ve gotta give me more, Molly,” Hayden finally says.
She’s listened to me whine about my feelings for Griff for years. I guess I owe her some small detail. “He admitted he feels the same way about me.”
“Really?” Her eyes widen with excitement, and she rubs her palms together. “And?”
“He, uh, wants to wait until after my birthday to do anything about it.” I shrug. “He’s right. I don’t want him in trouble because of me.” My words aren’t strong enough to convince myself, let alone Hayden.
“That’s stupid.” Hayden flicks her wrist in the air as if she’s flicking my concern into the trash can. “The age of consent in New York is seventeen. Who’s going to complain, anyway? Your dad? When was the last time he even showed his face here?”
“Uh, never. Thank God. Remy would probably kill him.”
“Right.” She tilts her head, staring at the ceiling as if she’s working out a complicated math problem in her head. “Besides, just because you’re a couple doesn’t have to mean you’re screwing.”
“Hayden,” I groan.
“What?” Her eyes bug out, emphasizing her point. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t want to mess up their friendship.”
“Remy doesn’t own you, Molly.”
I groan and roll my eyes. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t have an older brother. “Tell him that.”
“So you’re never supposed to date anyone?” Her voice rises in pitch with each word. “Ever?”
“No, eventually I’ll move out and do whatever I want.” I glance at my hand and frown at a dent in my thumbnail polish. Too late to fix it now. “Besides, I’ve dated guys.”
“Yeah, and Remy scared them away.”
I snort. “With good reason. Kirk told everyone we screwed under the bleachers.”
“I remember.” She pats the space on the mattress next to her. “He was a jerk. I hope his life is hell in Ohio.”
“Me too.” I stand and relocate to my bed, falling against my pillows and pointing toward my closet. “I decided on red jeans and the black top with the roses on it.”
“Pretty.” Hayden stretches her arms behind her and leans back on her hands. She chatters about all the snacks she bought for tonight while I fling myself off the bed and open my closet door.
I wriggle into my jeans and pull my shirt over my head.
“Oh, I love those puffed sleeves.” She squeals and sits up, clapping her hands together. “Nice cleavage too.”
I glance down. “Too much?”
“Nope.” She grins.
I lift the hem of the shirt. “It’s a weird length. Looks silly out but tucking it in looks weird too.”
“Ooo, let me try this trick I saw on TikTok.”
Lord, what now? Hayden loves trying every “hack” she finds online. Makeup, clothes, organizing her tampons—if there’s a hack for a problem she didn’t know she had, Hayden will test it out and if it works, force it on all her friends.
“Do you have a cheap, thin bangle bracelet you don’t care about?” she asks, squinting at my shirt. “And a hair tie?”
“Uh.” I glance at my dresser. “I think so.”
She swipes a silver bracelet off the top of my dresser and holds it up. “This okay?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, take off your shirt and put it on inside out.”
“What?” But I’m already lifting the shirt over my head. “Now what?”
She twists, tucks, and arranges the bracelet and elastic the way she wants without referring to her phone for the original inspiration. Hayden has an incredible memory for details. “Okay, take it off carefully.” She helps me ease the shirt off and put it on again the right way, then walks behind me to inspect her work.
“Perfect. Look.” She grabs me by the shoulders and steers me toward the full-length mirror next to my closet.
I peer over my shoulder and admire the neatly gathered fabric and “O” design my shirt’s been pulled into without baring any extra skin. “That’s kinda cute. Think it will hold all night?”
She shrugs. “If it doesn’t, you’ll be at my house, so I’ll fix it. No biggie.”