Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
He hasn’t been inside me for days. Ugh.
I relent; the idea of make-up sex has my entire body positively vibrating.
“Alright. But you have to deadbolt the doors.”
“Deal.”
Epilogue
Molly
One month later
There’s a strange car in the driveway when I get home from school and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t belong to Mr. Wallace or his new girlfriend, Chandler.
It’s a white SUV I’ve never seen, with Illinois plates, parked crooked—like the person driving it threw it into park so they could hop out and get inside. Weird, like who does such a shitty job? Parking isn’t hard.
Rolling my eyes, I set my backpack on the front stoop of my house before weaving my way through the bushes that separate our place from Mr. Wallace’s. Stomp over to the white car.
Press my face against the tinted window and peer inside.
Purse. Sunglasses.
Coffee in the cupholder.
Hmm…
I know for a fact Mr. Wallace and Chandler aren’t home; they both work today, and it’s my job to walk the dog. He didn’t say a word about anyone being here when it was time for me to pop in.
Whoever it is knows how to get inside, but his parents both drive black cars.
I know, technically, my only responsibility is walking Chewy, but I consider it a full-time job to know the ins and outs of this neighborhood. My mom calls it snooping, but I call it doing my civic duty.
Shoulders back, I punch in the garage code and crouch to go under it before it’s fully raised. Grab a baseball bat as a weapon before letting myself inside through the laundry room door.
Yes, I know what you’re thinking—this is a terrible idea. What if a murderer is inside? What if I’m about to walk into a home invasion and become a casualty of a botched job?
I scoff.
The odds are slim, considering it’s a woman’s vehicle parked in the driveway.
Rounding the corner to the kitchen, I let out a tentative “Hello?” before stepping all the way inside.
Nothing.
Chewy hasn’t even come out to greet me from wherever it is he’s fallen asleep—if he’s sleeping and not tied up in a corner with a gag in his mouth.
The thought spurs me on. Chewy might need me!
My parents are going to kill me. No job is worth putting your life in danger! my dad will say.
Shoulders back. Chin up.
Listen, Molly, being brave and facing your fears is one thing. Risking your life for—
A low moan comes from somewhere near the pantry.
I stop dead in my tracks, listening.
“Ugh…”
There it is again!
Someone is in the bathroom…
I tiptoe toward it, sneakily, just in case.
The door is cracked wide enough for me to see a woman on the floor, dark hair and head bent over the toilet, Chewy lying faithfully at her side, his adorable jowls slobbering on her feet.
Is she puking?
I push the door open wider, resting the baseball bat against the doorjamb.
“Hello?”
The woman startles, letting out a “Holy shit!” Head lolling as she lays it on the cold, white toilet seat.
I sure do hope the cleaning lady was here.
“Who are you?” I waste no time with pleasantries, puking invader or not.
“Who are you?” she has the audacity to volley back.
The nerve!
“Who are you?” I parrot, clearly the injured party who deserves an explanation in this situation.
The woman rolls her glassy eyes, irritated but in no shape to continue the chicken fight. “I’m True.”
I cross my arms and spread my legs defensively. “Are you on drugs?”
She laughs out a groan. “No, I’m not on drugs.”
“Then why are you on Mr. Wallace’s bathroom floor barfing?”
This woman who calls herself True finally focuses her gaze on me, looking me up and down. “Who did you say you are?”
I straighten my spine. “Molly. I live next door.”
“Ahh, the dog walker.” Her body goes slack as she hugs the toilet bowl with both hands.
“And house sitter!” My foot is still tapping on the hardwood floor. “Who did you say you are? You’ve only told me your name—you didn’t tell me what you’re doing here.”
She moans. “Well, well, well, aren’t you just a little ray of Pitbull terrier. Does my brother know he has a guard dog living next door?”
Pitbull terrier? That makes no sense, but I’m not about to tell her that.
In any case, I take it as a compliment.
“Why are you puking?”
True Wallace pauses.
Hesitates good and long before turning to glance up at me, breathing heavy. Brows a bit sweaty now.
“I’m pregnant.”