Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Foster gave a thumb’s up.
“Then let’s do it, darlin’,” he teased.
Blake dug her fingers into his ribs. “You’re making the poor girl blush.”
The ‘poor girl’ blushed harder.
I grinned and followed her as she led us to the table.
That smile fell straight off my face the moment that I saw who we were sitting next to.
Romeo’s mother.
Son of a bitch.
My good mood instantly evaporated.
Anger simmering in my belly, I took a seat between Louis and my mom, trying valiantly to ignore the smiling, uncaring woman two tables away from us.
Louis’ hand landed on my shoulder.
He missed nothing.
Teeth gritted, I smiled and opened up the menu even though I knew exactly what I was going to get.
I found what I wanted, contemplated the drink selection, and waited until the waitress got to me to take my drink order.
Honestly, I was doing a pretty damn good job of keeping my shit under control.
At least until about thirty minutes later when our food was being placed in front of us and the stupid heifer two tables over started laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Oh, Julian’s in Florida,” Mrs. Ricci said. “He texted me this morning a picture of a sunset.”
I rolled my eyes.
I’m sure he got that ‘sunset picture’ off of fucking Google.
Because like Louis, I agreed that he didn’t go to Florida.
In fact, I wanted to bet that Mrs. Ricci knew exactly where he was at and what he was doing.
Not that I could prove a thing.
“Why’s she talking so loud?” Foster muttered. “You think that she’s doing it for our benefit?”
“Guarantee it,” Louis muttered. “She’s helpful like that.”
“Who’s that?” Beckham asked, sensing the tension.
I grimaced.
“That’s the mother of one of the students at my school. He… he killed himself,” I said softly.
“She doesn’t look upset in the least.” Beckham surveyed the glaring woman. “In fact, she looks like she’s having a grand ol’ time.”
I agreed. Which was why I’d been glaring at the bitch.
Her son had died.
Yesterday.
And she was out, having fun, laughing, and practically acting like she didn’t give a fuck?
Then she burst into laughter.
“Oh, Julian gets to have the house now.” She paused for dramatic purposes. “You know why, obviously.”
What the hell was that?
No. Just no.
I slammed my plate of nachos backward, got up, and was three steps around the table when Louis caught me around the waist and pulled me down into his lap.
I growled as I struggled to get up.
“Don’t,” he ordered. “It’s not worth it.”
Oh, it’d be worth it.
“It’ll be worth it when I shove my fist down her throat,” I growled.
There was a chuckle from someone at the table, but I didn’t look away from Mrs. Ricci long enough to look over to see who’d been doing the laughing.
I. Was. Pissed.
So freakin’ pissed.
I tried to get up again when she clinked her margarita glass with the man next to her, and Louis once again tightened his hold.
“You been lifting weights?” he grunted when I struggled even harder.
I turned my glare on him.
“No, the only thing I’ve been doing lately is…” He placed his hand over my mouth, laughter filling his gaze.
The muffled ‘you’ came out anyway, causing Beckham to snicker beside me.
My dad? Not so much.
“So when’s the wedding, champ?” Dad all but snarled.
We ignored him, but only because I tried to use his moment of distraction to get away.
It would’ve worked, too, had his dad not been directly next to him.
He caught me around the waist before I could even take two steps toward the other table, pushed me indelicately back into Louis’ lap, and never once let go of his beer.
I rolled my eyes, leaning back into Louis’ chest and crossed my arms.
Louis leaned forward slightly and took a massive bite of his burrito, and I sighed before reaching for my own plate.
Despite being pissed, I was incredibly hungry. Meaning I would not allow El Sombrero’s nachos to go to waste.
They weren’t the regular nachos, either.
They were Papa’s Nachos. A yummy blend of waffle fries, grilled, marinated chicken, the world’s best white queso, and other cheesy goodness.
I leaned forward, not bothering to shift off of Louis’ lap, and started to inhale my food.
Conversation continued around me, and it was only when I was running a stray piece of chicken through the last of the queso on the plate that I realized that conversation had waned and everyone was staring at me.
“What?” I asked around my bite of chicken.
“Never seen you eat so much, that’s all,” my dad said. “You’re normally full by a quarter of the way through.”
That was true.
With my near constant anemia, I was almost always nauseous.
Eating was a necessary evil that I had to do to live.
But today, I’d actually enjoyed my food.
A lot.
In fact, as I stared at the beans that Louis had yet to finish, I almost asked if I could have them.