Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
At lunch, the guys can’t wait to give me a hard time.
“You look like you’ve been hunting a madman through Cambodia,” Fenn tells me when I sit down with my tray. He’s still marveling at my face, which I imagine is somehow worse than when I woke up this morning.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“You’re sporting war paint,” Silas says. “Those bruises are gnarly.”
I’ve never stuck a finger into my own bullet wound before, but the agony of chewing right now has to come close. “You should have seen the other guy,” I mutter into my mashed potatoes.
“We did.” Lawson laughs. “You even manage to lay a hand on him?”
I show him my swollen knuckles. “I hit something.”
Fenn snorts. “Not hard enough.”
“I don’t know what sort of radioactive spider crawled up Duke’s dick hole, but the dude punches hard.” I sigh and force myself to take another jaw-jarring bite.
“Now you know why most of us steer clear,” Fenn reminds me again. I don’t think he’ll get bored of I told you so anytime soon.
Silas doesn’t hide his grin. “You really got your ass kicked.”
“If you wanted to skulk away, there’s no shame in running.” Lawson smirks at me over a Greek salad. “I know people who could get you a new identity. Help you slip out of town.”
I shrug. Because it wasn’t my first fight. Some of them I won, others I didn’t. I didn’t feel much different about either result. It’s whatever.
“Still think Sloane is worth it?” Silas asks pointedly.
His tone raises my hackles a little. His attitude’s been weird for a while, hard for me to make sense of. Sometimes it’s like he’s trying to be my best friend. Other times, I think he enjoys taking shots at me a little more than the other guys. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but I suspect Sloane plays a role in it. Although he hardly ever brings her up, I still can’t shake the feeling that Silas has a thing for her, no matter how often he’s texting with his Ballard girlfriend.
“If I was going to let Duke scare me off, I wouldn’t have asked her out in the first place,” I answer lightly.
“How’d that go, anyway?” Lawson asks. “You two search each other for tattoos yet?”
I keep it vague. “We had a good time.”
“Yeah?” he drawls, and I realize the original question had been a trap. Another one of Lawson’s little games. “I heard you two spent all night at the bar trying to swallow each other’s faces.”
“No comment.” I take another agonizing bite.
“Fuck.” Lawson is obvious about adjusting himself as he groans. “I would seriously hit that.”
Fenn rolls his eyes. “We know.”
“In her daddy’s office. Bent over that fucking antique chess set.”
Silas bristles. “Could you not? I’m still eating.”
Then, because the two of them enjoy poking at Silas, they go into an elaborate description of their weekend exploits. Lawson tells us about some housewife he picked up at a hotel bar in Manchester because she looked like his dental hygienist.
“Are you sure it wasn’t her?” Fenn asks with a grin.
“Come to think of it, I don’t think I know her name. Could have been.”
“That’ll make for an awkward cleaning,” I say.
“Not as awkward as my last birthday brunch after I fucked my dad’s new wife.”
I wait for Lawson to laugh and give me the punchline.
He doesn’t.
I stare at him. “Oh, you’re serious.”
He cracks a self-satisfied smile and pops an olive into his mouth. “He had it coming.”
And I thought my family was complicated.
Chapter 28
Sloane
RJ is early and waiting at the bench when I find him on the path after school. He’s barely tucked into the sliver of shade under the large branch of a tree. Even the slightest cover from direct sunlight is a relief from the relentless heat.
I see a hundred guys a day in this same school uniform. RJ does something different to it. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up on his white button-down shirt. The striped tie loose around his neck. Joint hanging out of his mouth. He’s like a Tarantino character.
His face, though, has seen better days.
“Check you out.” I sweep my startled gaze over the multitude bruises in various shades of purple. It’s worse than I thought.
“Forgive me if I don’t look excited,” he sighs. “I can’t feel my eyebrows.”
“Yeah?” I lean in and make him meet me for a kiss, then pull back just before our lips touch.
RJ groans. “Cheap shot, Tresscott.”
“Work for it.”
He stomps out the spent joint. Quicker than expected, he lunges for my waist and pulls me to sit on the bench then lays a kiss on me.
It hasn’t even been that long, but I’d already forgotten how magnetic that first kiss felt. I’d lost the sensation in the beer haze, convinced myself I’d exaggerated it in my head. But now I remember the overwhelming motivation to jump him. And the tenderness of his lips. Emphatic but not rushed or forceful. If a kiss can be cool, RJ’s mastered the technique. Effortless.