Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“They aren’t good enough for you! Were you even listening to anything I just said? You need to hold out for—”
“I’m not gonna find the perfect boyfriend here in a nightclub, Jimmy. I’m gonna find exactly what we have found: old horny men, young tweaked-out party monsters, and the whole spectrum of ‘weirdo’ in between.”
Jimmy huffs frustratedly at me. “You’ve gotta keep lookin’!”
I swat his hands right off my shoulders, fed up. “And who are you expecting me to find in here?” I shout at him. “You?”
Jimmy had his mouth open already to say something else, but those next words are now frozen to his tongue.
After an eternity, his face moves again. “The hell you mean?”
I cross my arms. “No one’s gonna meet your standards,” I tell him, “because you won’t settle for me being with anyone who isn’t like you. And guess what, Jimmy? No one’s like you.”
“And how—” Jimmy swallows, interrupting himself, and shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “And how am I, exactly?”
“Fiercely devoted,” I answer dryly.
Jimmy lets on a tiny smile of pride.
“To a fault,” I add, my eyes narrowing.
His face falters.
“Totally irritating, in fact,” I go on. “Won’t just let things be, ever. Needs everything in its right place or else. Needs reassurance all the time. Insecure as all get-out.”
He lifts a hand. “Now wait a minute …”
“Needs to be in the spotlight all day long. Full of himself. Can’t stand the idea of his best friend having a life of his own. Needs—”
“Hold on, wait a sec, whoa …”
“—everyone to drop everything at his beck and call. And why do I put up with it? Why am I letting this happen? I don’t need a boyfriend. Hell, I don’t even know if I want one.”
“Bobby, stop.”
“I’m goin’ back to the hotel room.”
With that, I ditch Jimmy, push through the doors, and march my way down the crowded street, the city smog baking my face.
8
JIMMY
Now wait a dang minute.
Slow down. What the fuck?
I chase him right out of the club, but Lightning Legs hurried out so fast, I don’t even see him on the street. I dodge weird looks while searching for any sign of Bobby—and narrowly avoid a car that flies right on by suspiciously close to the curb.
Bobby got out of there fast.
Well, at least I know where he’s headed.
After a brisk fifteen-minute jog, I’m racing up the stairwell—listening to my feet stick on every gummy, stained step all the way up to the third floor—and finally reach our room.
I turn the key and push inside. I find Bobby chilling on the bed in just a pair of white boxer briefs and a tank top, the TV on, and the remote in his hand. His arms are crossed as well as his legs at the ankle, making his thighs look huge.
Goodness, he sure whipped out of his clothes fast enough.
I don’t come too far into the room, standing at the door and staring in at him. “Look, dude …” I start.
“Can we skip the whole conversation and just kick back and watch the dumb TV?” Bobby cuts me off. “Y’know, like we said we would do if your whole nightclub scheme didn’t work out?”
I wrinkle my face. “It wasn’t no scheme.”
“I’m tired, Jimmy. I’m just tired and not in the mood.”
“What was that crap you went on about at the club?” I press on, coming into the room and letting the door close behind me.
He purses his lips in frustration and doesn’t answer.
“Bobby.” I sit on the edge of my bed, facing his. The springs creak and groan under my ass. “Full of myself? Can’t stand the idea of you havin’ a life of your own? Insecure? What was all that?”
“I shouldn’t have said it, sorry,” he mumbles, looking away.
“Nah, don’t close up. Tell me what you really think.”
“Didn’t I, already?”
“Bobby …”
Then, at once, he swings his legs around and now sits on the edge of his own bed, facing me directly, his face tensed up. “You ever felt like the minor character in your own damned life?”
I stare at him. “Say what?”
“That’s what being your friend feels like sometimes,” he goes on. “It feels like the Jimmy Strong show all day, every day. Even at South Wood. I’m always hangin’ with your friends, following what you’re doing, going to your friends’ parties … The second I try to do somethin’ on my own, you’ve got a problem with it.”
“That isn’t true,” I blurt at once.
“Yeah, it is.” Bobby tosses the remote behind him, freeing his hands so as to clutch the edge of the bed. “You don’t know what it’s like to not have the spotlight on you. Hell, even on a night that is supposed to be all about me, you make it all about you.”
I gape at him, struck by his words. “What the—?”