Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“I know.” There isn’t disappointment in his voice. No judgment. “Are there times when no one has known before though? Not security or your family?”
I walk slowly towards the cashier. He follows as I say, “Would you be upset if I said yes?”
“Upset? No. Worried about you, yeah.”
I pause at the end of the aisle. Careful to keep my voice quiet. “I’ve been able to wander the city alone and without anyone knowing. Mostly in Philly. Center City.”
“How old were you?” he wonders.
I shrug. “It was after I was eighteen and moved out of my parents’ house. I used to go to some local bars like Thirsty Goose, Tipping Place, Doobies.”
“Doobies,” he smirks.
It makes me smile, especially knowing he’s not condemning me for breaking a ginormous security rule. Do not leave without a bodyguard. “No one ever really knew I was there,” I tell him. “I’d sit in a dark corner and just people-watch. I guess I could’ve gone to a library, but most of the time, I snuck out at night.”
He looks me over. “Why’d you want to?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Sometimes I thought it’s because I was trying to feel normal. Other times, I think it just felt freeing. But at the end, it was just kinda lonely.”
He bobs his head. “Yeah, best nights out for me have been with friends.” We wait to approach the checkout, hanging near shelved bags of M&Ms and Twizzlers.
A long second passes before Donnelly finally asks, “You talk to any guys at the bars?”
I shrug again. “Sometimes.”
His face noticeably tightens, and his brows lift while he glances at the entrance again. His six-foot-three build has tensed, and I shift my weight uncertainly.
“Your worry looks angry,” I say.
His blue eyes rest gently on mine. “‘Cause you’re looking at jealousy.”
Flush ascends my neck. Oh. I give him a once-over, realizing jealousy is hot on Donnelly, the attractive type of hot. I realize how badly I just want him to want me, but the yearning is even deeper than that. I want him to consume me, grab me, take me, make me his forever.
A little breathless, I ask, “You wish you could’ve been at the bar?”
“Right there, right beside you, space babe.” He searches my eyes for something. “Next time, you planning to throw me an invite?”
“Will you come as a friend or a bodyguard?”
“Friend. I’m joining your secret rendezvous in the great state of PA.”
I smile. “We’ll dance in the corner.”
“To Def Leppard.”
“And drink all the green shots.”
“Only the green ones,” he emphasizes.
“Right off my belly button.”
He lets out a wanting breath. “Girl, hit me up already.”
We’re both grinning, but my heart pangs. “Why does that sound like fan fiction?”
“Because we’d both write it.” Isn’t that the truth. “Yours would be better written though,” he adds. “I’d read the fuck out of it too.”
“You think we’ll ever get to live it?”
He canvasses me, up-down. “You losing hope?”
It’s been one of the longest weeks of my life. I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this for months on end. “Maybe just a morsel.”
He nods, understanding.
“But I’m trying to stay hopeful,” I add now, wanting him to know that I’m not giving up that easily. I won’t.
His chest lifts, and we go to the register together.
“You can put your stuff up there with mine,” he says, digging out his wallet. His eyes signal for me to please let him, and I’ve started realizing buying me food means something to Donnelly, so I go ahead and combine my snacks with his. He adds a couple packs of cigarettes to the pile.
The cashier eagle-eyes me, and I catch sight of the nearest Celebrity Crush tabloid. The headline: Who’s the Baby Daddy?!
It’s a picture of Sullivan coming out of Lucky’s Diner with Banks and Akara. They’ve circled her barely noticeable baby bump and drawn an arrow with the word, Preggers!
Sulli hasn’t announced her pregnancy or marriage yet, but the tabloids are rampant with speculations, especially since the three of them wear braided strings on their ring fingers.
“Hun,” the cashier says, smacking gum. Nametag reads, Ash. “Is this yours?” Ash lifts the Four Loko.
“Nah, it’s mine,” Donnelly tells them before I can answer. He hands over his ID, saving me from the possibility of being declined.
“Thanks.” The cashier returns the ID, then scans the alcoholic drink. “Keep your heads up.” I follow Ash’s gaze to Boom Box loitering outside. “Some people feel important when they’re harassing others, but a lot of us can see who they really are.”
It’s nice to be reminded that Philly isn’t full of haters and bad paparazzi. There are people who genuinely wish us well, seeing that we’re human too.
After I thank Ash, I hook one plastic bag on my elbow and Donnelly carries the other. He pushes open the door.
Boom Box swarms us, but I tune out their questions.