Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
She doesn’t even wait for me to respond before she’s tapping on the screen to answer. “Hey,” she says, her voice sounding nothing like it did mere seconds ago when she was about to wax poetic about his magical tongue.
I don’t know what Brandon says on the end, but Avery laughs like whatever he says is the funniest freaking thing she’s ever heard in her life and sits down in her favorite loungey chair by the window, one index finger twirling a strand of her long dark-brown hair.
“Oh my God, Brandon. You’re so crazy,” she says, and more flirty giggles fall from her lips.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m intruding. Leaving isn’t an option, though, because my mother is busy moving in to her new penthouse condo in South Beach and my dad is busy with Tiffany, so I settle on a middle ground and tell Avery I’m going to go grab a snack from downstairs.
She barely even hears me, her mind one hundred percent fixated on whatever Brandon Worley is saying to her.
I don’t want to be jealous of my best friend, but I am. I want someone to want me like that. I want to feel pretty. So much so, I could cry.
I roll my eyes at myself as I head down the steps and into the kitchen. Avery’s parents are already in bed, but I’ve been spending so much time at my best friend’s house over the past year, I have no qualms about making myself at home.
Ever since my mom found out about my dad’s affair with bimbo Tiffany, my home life exploded. The fights and arguments between my parents grew nasty and vile, and spending the night at Avery’s was way better than having to hear the ugly details of my parents’ failing marriage through the walls. The Bankses have been welcoming, and I’ve gotten good at going with it. Heck, last year, for Take Your Daughter to Work Day, both Avery and I went with Mr. Banks to his marketing firm and sat through a conference call where a Chinese translator was needed for the client. It was probably the coolest thing I’ve ever been a part of.
When nothing sounds good, I grab a bottle of water and head into the living room and through the sliding glass doors that lead to the outside.
The soft sounds of the ocean are soothing as I traipse across the large patio area, past the infinity-edge pool, and out toward the deck steps that lead to the sand. It’s not long before I make it all the way to the beach and plop my ass down just mere feet from the water.
I wiggle my toes into the sand and run my fingers through it too, trying to make sense of how jealous I’m feeling while watching the light from the moon bounce off the gentle lap of the water.
My best friend had her first kiss tonight, and I haven’t kissed anyone. Probably never even will.
Melanie Mendez kissed Anthony Lazarus when she was eleven. And since then, she’s also kissed Greg Bolger, Evan Meyers, Lucas Wilson, and Marty King. That’s five freaking people she’s kissed, and I’m still at a big fat zero.
Tara Reynolds has already kissed three boys from our grade, and Jenny Steward has kissed four.
And now, Avery has joined their group, and I’m the lone wolf. Just sitting out here on my lonely rock of I-haven’t-kissed-anyone-yet.
Or maybe, it’s the fact that no one wants to kiss me.
A stupid tear escapes my eye and runs down my cheek as pity for myself starts to rage.
I’m the only girl in my class with copper-red hair, freckles, and blue eyes. Everyone else is either blond or brunette, and their boobs did some serious growing over the summer.
I’m the flat-chested, skinny redhead with—
“You okay?”
My gaze jerks up on a startle, and my chest locks instantly. Holy shitoly, Beau Banks looks good from this close up. I shift my eyes to his feet in the sand to get myself together as I nod.
“Fine.” It’s a lie, and he, I, and the ocean all freaking know it. Not five seconds ago, I was sniffling like a crybaby.
He sits down beside me, leaning back into his tanned hands and making his white T-shirt ride up on his perfect abs. He’s eighteen—five years older than Ave and me—and he’s, hands down, the most gorgeous human being I’ve ever seen in my whole freaking life.
When I don’t say anything else, he nudges me with his knee to get my attention, and my stomach flips over on itself. “How about you tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, c’mon, Juniper June, I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
Juniper June. Beau Banks is the only one who can make my name sound good to my own ears. His calling me “Juniper June” or “Juni” are my two favorite sounds in the world. Well…maybe second and third after his laugh.