Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Oh!” I shift my hips a bit, rubbing back and forth across the ridge in his jeans.
“We’re right here, you know? Your brother and sister, who can see everything you’re doing,” Shep says, interrupting my moment with Ben with a most unwelcome reminder.
Ben chuckles quietly and then tells me, “Look where you want the dart to go, pull back, release, and follow through.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. All the blood in my body has rushed south, and my vajayjay is singing a song because Ben thinks I’m sexy.
Hee-hee, vajayjay . . . that’s a silly word. It’s better than vulva, though. Vullll-va. Vagin-ina. Varginia. Vagina. Hee-hee, they all sound funny! I wonder what Ben calls it. Probably pussy or cunt. I don’t think Roy ever called it anything.
I don’t remember throwing it, but the dart flies through the air toward the board, prompting me to momentarily focus on the game. Joy and Shepherd are winning by twenty-three points, but we’re gonna beat them. I’m already internally celebrating the bull’s-eye I’m sure I’m going to make when the dart bounces off the board and tumbles to the floor. “Damn it!” I shout.
“I don’t know what Roy sees in you,” Brooklin scoffs as she drops off our fried pickles and fries. “He could do so much better.”
“You want him?” I question harshly, my good mood soured by her attitude and the not-bull’s-eye. “You can have him. I don’t want him or his crappy vows. ‘Obey’?” I shake my head, but decide words are better than a movement that sends me off-balance. “Hell no. The only person I’m obeying is me, myself, and I.” I point at my chest so we’re both clear on who I’m talking about. “I don’t want to be a lonely lamp. I’m not a lamp! I’m Hope Mercy Barlowe, and I’m not living another day of my life for Roy Laurier.”
“A lamp? How drunk are you?” she asks in confusion. “You’re cut off.”
“I might be drunk, but at least I’m happy!” I bellow. “Unlike some people!”
I already had everyone’s attention, but that gets a response. “Oooh! Catfight!” someone calls out.
“Yeah, you seem like it,” she snaps sardonically, one brow arched as she looks me up and down.
She doesn’t get it, but I do. The truth is, I am happy. Happier and more alive than I’ve been in . . . is it dramatic to say than I’ve ever been? Maybe, but it’s the way I feel.
Some of it is me. I’m fixing myself, thinking through the past and seeing it in a new light, and listening to my heart about what I want in the future.
Some of it is Ben. He looks at me with awe in his eyes. Even when I’m sloppy drunk or a crying mess that wants to hide, he sees beauty—not on the surface, but inside me.
And yeah, some of this happy is probably the beer, I admit as I burp again and then giggle. “Burps are funny,” I slur. “Issa funny word too. Burrrrrrrrrrrp. Like it sounds like what it is, ya know?”
“Onomatopoeia,” Joy says straight-faced, which also makes me laugh because I think she’s making up funny words. She must be suuuper drunk—unlike me, who’s just a wee bit tipsy.
“Tip me over and pour me out,” I sing, doing the teapot dance, which earns me several strange looks.
“You ready to go home?” Ben asks me, his arm wrapped around my waist again to prop me up. The adrenaline dump of telling Brooklin off has made me reach my limit and then speed on past it. Exhaustion hits hard, and my muscles feel like goo.
Put a fork in me, I’m done.
Ben must anticipate my answer, because he offers our untouched food to the people sitting closest to us and throws a fifty-dollar bill on the table, which reminds me . . .
“Yeah, but I’ve got a tip for you, Brooklin.” I hold a finger up, making sure I enunciate. “You’re a bitch,” I say, clear as a bell and loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Boom, mic drop!” Joy adds helpfully, and the whole place erupts in laughter. “That’s my sister,” she proudly tells each person we pass as Ben and Shep herd the two of us through the laughing crowd and out of the bar, into the chill of the summer night.
“You got that one and I’ll get this one?” Shep asks Ben, who nods. The two men shake hands, sealing a bond formed over beers, darts, and maybe even a little hockey.
Chapter 16
BEN
“Good morning, gorgeous,” I tell the snoring monster in my bed.
She’s on that razor’s edge between passed out and sleeping, her hair wild, arms and legs askew across the whole bed, and one foot dangling toward the floor.
When we got home last night, I had to carry her inside, help her change into sleep clothes—one of my Midnight Destruction shirts again—and tuck her in. I also did not sleep on top of the covers this time, but rather wrapped around her, keeping her close all night. I told myself it was so I could be sure she didn’t get sick in her sleep, but the truth is, I’d wanted to hold her.