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)
“He still working at that dinky little pub off the Thruway?”
Anger flares hot and I glare at him. “Yes, he still owns and runs the tavern our grandparents left us when they died. Thanks for asking.”
His jaw slides sideways in an oh, shit expression. “That’s right. I forgot. I’ll, uh, have to stop in one day.”
You do that. “Sure.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He reaches out and touches my shoulder. I flinch and jerk away.
He holds up the bottle. “You want a beer?”
“No thanks.” I raise my can of black cherry seltzer. “I’m good.”
He squints at the can. “Is that hard seltzer?”
Any idiot can see it’s a regular, fat can of traditional Polar seltzer—the same brand sold in every grocery store in New York—but I don’t feel like explaining why I’m not pounding alcohol like all my friends. “Yup.”
He leans closer, not even trying to hide that he’s angling his head to stare directly down my shirt. “Where’s Hayden’s room?” he asks.
“Huh?” I frown in confusion.
“Wade claims her room’s so pink it looks like the inside of…” his voice falters, “…uh, the inside of Barbie’s dream house. Is that true?”
I chuckle uncomfortably. “She redecorated it, yeah.” After her dad left, Hayden’s mom let her do whatever she wanted to her room. Hayden chose wild hot-pink wallpaper and painted all her furniture fuchsia. “I’m not a big fan of pink, but it actually looks amazing. Hayden has a great eye for colors, patterns, and stuff. I asked her to come up with a purple and red scheme for my room…” Wesley’s gaze is focused somewhere over my head. He’s not even listening.
Why’d he bother asking?
Wesley’s gaze wanders toward the stairs.
He seems to notice I’ve stopped talking and shifts his attention to me again. “So where are you planning to go to school next year?”
“I…I’m not sure yet.”
His head tilts in this pitying sort of way that tightens my jaw with annoyance. “What do you want to study?”
“Communication disorders and sciences.”
He shrugs and gives a blank expression. “Where?”
Good question. I don’t have enough money to go too far from home. “Uh, I’m thinking of going to Greene Point, then transferring to Cortland or somewhere for the last two years.”
“Greene Point? That’s basically thirteenth grade,” he sneers with all the assurance only a guy whose parents can afford tuition can muster.
I shrug like that didn’t sting. “I don’t want to go too far away.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s nice coming home on the weekends.” He grins. “My mom does all my laundry for me.”
Of course she does.
“So, Molly.” He pushes away from the wall and reaches for me, his hand hovering close enough for him to graze his scratchy thumb over my semi-bare shoulder.
I keep my gaze focused on the wall in front of me, not wanting to lead him on. “Yeah?”
“You wanna go upstairs?” he asks. “You can show me Hayden’s pink bedroom.”
A mental red flag pops up at the unnatural emphasis he puts on bed. “Uh…I don’t know if Hayden would like me giving tours of her room.”
He stares at the ceiling for a second. “Yeah, but we could be alone.” His thumb scratches over my shoulder again. “Maybe you could give me head?”
What?
My jaw drops and I stare at him.
Did he just say what I think he said?
Each word of our limited conversation replays in my mind.
What did I say that translated into I want to suck your dick in his addled brain?
“No.”
“But we have such good chemistry.” He grabs my hand and tries to push it against his crotch. “Look how hard I am for you.”
That’s supposed to impress me?
I yank my hand away before I encounter any “hardness” and shoot him a glare that I wish had the power to make his dick shrivel to the size of a rotten banana stem. “Guys get an erection if a stiff breeze tickles them. It’s not exactly an accomplishment.” I tilt my head. “Or a compliment.”
He snort-laughs, then stops and frowns. “What?”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“No you don’t. Hayden said you’re single.” He lifts his chin. “You don’t gotta swallow.” He drops his gaze. “I can come on your tits.”
Revulsion washes over me. “Charming,” I scoff, and turn away.
A stiff grip encircles my arm, clamping down and yanking hard enough that seltzer bubbles and fizzes out of the top of the can in my other hand.
“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” he says.
“Get. Off. Me.” My brother and his friends have been teaching me how to defend myself since I was the smallest kid on the playground getting picked on by the class bullies. Instead of following my natural instinct to yank my arm away, I push forward, twist, and pull down until I’m free.
He grunts in surprise.
An image of kneeing him in the nuts flashes in front of my eyes, but I don’t want to escalate the situation.