Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
The memory of that night snuck in, uninvited. My blood pressure immediately spiked.
Did I want to talk? Not really, but I had no idea how much she knew, and I didn’t want her to think I was the kind of guy who would just beat up my old man--even if I was the kind of guy who would break into her house and destroy shit with a baseball bat.
“He deserved it, Drew. He really fucking deserved it.”
She sat up and swung her legs over my thigh, then brushed her fingers over my cheek. “I don’t think you’d hurt someone unless they deserved it.”
I couldn't help but laugh at that shit. “I broke into your house with a baseball bat and destroyed it.”
“Well, I did get you arrested. Which, by the way, I’m sorry about.”
“And I’m sorry I got you fired.” I swept her hair from her face. “God, that word is like thorns in my throat.”
“My point is, you didn’t hurt me.”
“You’re a girl.”
“In a place like Dayton, does it matter?”
“Shit like that should always matter.”
A small smile touched her lips. “See, you’re like a knight in thrift shop armor.”
“Nah, baby girl. I’m a villain who just wants the princess.”
“Me? Oh, no, I’m the evil queen.”
I pulled her into my lap, kissing her. “Even better.”
“Ewww! Why would you do that?” Arlo whined from the side of the pool. “That’s the part in movies you're supposed to cover your eyes for.”
“Close your eyes if you don’t wanna see it.” I kissed her harder. When she went to pull away, I squeezed her hips.
“We’re going to scar the kid.”
“He’s looked at my dad’s Playboys. He’s fine.”
35
Drew
The date circled on the calendar mocked me when I reached for the milk. What better way to start out my eighteenth birthday, than eating cereal in the kitchen--Alone?
My dad still wasn’t home.
No texts or missed calls--but it was only seven.
He’d probably taken an early flight so he could be home by the time I got back from school. God, why did I care? I didn’t even like the man.
The doorbell rang and I tossed my bowl in the sink, then went to answer it.
A man with a clipboard stood on the threshold while a noisy trailer truck backed up to the drive. “Drucella Morgan?” he said, making checks on his paper.
“Yes.”
“Just need you to sign.” He passed the clipboard to me.
After I’d scribbled my signature over a dotted line, he passed me a set of keys, along with an envelope. Then he went to the truck and lifted the rolling door while I opened the letter:
My Darling Daughter,
Happy eighteenth birthday, sweetie. I hope you like the car. Love you!
Bisous,
Irina x
A ramp lowered to the asphalt, and a few minutes later, a baby pink Porsche, with a massive white bow stuck to the hood, reversed out.
The car probably cost a small fortune. In baby pink. God, I hated that color.
Gifts were how Irina showed her affection--because I’d never quite use the word love. Most kids would give their right arm for that car, but for me, it was nothing but a reminder of my absent parents. At least my mom had remembered. My dad couldn’t even manage a simple message before his first meeting.
I closed the door, typed out a thank you text to my mom, then finished getting ready for school and went to wait on the porch for Nora.
Her car pulled in front of my house. I could see her sitting behind the wheel, gawking at the pink Barbie car before I reached the drive. When I got in, she let out a low whistle. “Nice car.”
“Thanks. My mom sent it.” I intentionally left out the “for my birthday” part. I didn’t want the attention. Plus, my own father couldn't be bothered with it, why should anyone else? It was just another day anyway, it didn’t matter.
The entire drive to school, I kept refreshing my phone to check for a text. And every time nothing popped up, I felt worse. I cared, and I didn’t want to.
By the time we pulled up to Dayton my mood was sour.
I swear the only thing that made this school bearable was Bellamy. Even when we were enemies, he at least made it exciting, and his absence only added to my bleak outlook today.
Come lunch, there was still no text from my dad, but at least Genevieve messaged me Happy Birthday.
I grabbed my shitty lunch and didn’t even bother with a Push-Pop, because all that was left was cherry, and that was worse than grape. On a huff, I tossed my tray to the table and sank to the stool beside Nora.
“You okay?” she asked, picking over her salad. “You seem mad or something.”
“I’m fine.” I unwrapped my sandwich then lifted the bun to inspect the meat.
“Why do you keep staring at Hendrix, Diane?” Nora nudged me in the ribs. “She’s like ogling him.”