Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Asshole: Am I? Really?
Asshole: What if I miss yoU?
Dickhead.
Me: You saw me two days ago
Asshole: And?
Asshole: Still miss yoU
I hesitated.
Me: Must be my charming personality
Asshole: Nope. Totally yoUR tits.
Me: Obviously
Asshole: yoU coming over or what?
Me: I don’t know
Asshole: See yoU in a few, Roe.
Evasive prick.
On a sigh, I tossed my phone onto the table. Somewhere along the line, hate had become want, and I knew, just knew how stupid that was. Zepp fucked and chucked girls regularly, each one thinking she was going to be the idiot to change him. But I didn’t think for a second that I could change him, and I wasn’t about to be his next heartbreak. Every fiber of me knew he was a bad idea, but he also felt like the only safety in a world of chaos. Dangerous. So very dangerous.
* * *
After dropping off Jade, I went home to my mom's dilapidated little trailer. I sat in my tiny room, studying, trying to purge my mind of thoughts. As I stared at the pages of my history book, this feeling crept up on me, burrowing into my chest and hollowing out a void that felt all-encompassing. It was the deep ache of loneliness—something I rarely allowed myself to feel because I was always alone. When I was younger, my mom used to have lucid moments between the highs. For a few minutes, it was like I actually had a mom, and God, how I craved that sense of just... having someone. Anyone. A lump clogged my throat. As if he could sense my weakness, my phone vibrated with a text from Zepp.
Asshole: Where R U?
Me: Home
Asshole: UR supposed to say: on my way to UR house
I inhaled a deep breath, resenting this pointless flicker of hope that I felt. Zepp Hunt wasn’t a guy to pin any kind of hope on. My head knew that, but my lonely heart...
Me: Don’t you have better things to be doing?
It was a Sunday night, but I was sure he could be doing other things.
Asshole: No. Come over.
Seconds passed before the next text came through.
Asshole: Please
I was sure Zepp rarely said please to anyone.
My indecision meant it was late by the time I pulled up outside his house. Fundamentally, I knew I should ride this shit out alone, the same way I always did. But a horrible little voice whispered that I didn’t need to.
I knocked on the front door, then leaned against the frame, listening to the crickets chirp in the grass. The door creaked open, spilling light onto the porch. Zepp filled the entrance, a T-shirt and loose sweatpants looking better on him than they had any right to.
“Hey,” I said, hating how awkward I sounded. But this was the first time I had come to Zepp’s because I wanted to. Because he had invited me.
His gaze roamed over me, stopping on my jeans for a beat too long. “Jeans, huh?” He stepped to the side, inviting me in before he closed the door, locking the deadbolt and the series of chains commonplace in Dayton.
“Yeah.” I moved down the hall and into the living room, Zepp right behind me.
He fell onto the tattered couch, grabbing a game controller from the table. “Why jeans?”
“Where are the guys?” I wasn’t going down this road with him.
His lips pressed into a hard line. “Gone.”
I swiped the other game controller from the table and settled onto the sofa beside him. “Show me how to play.”
“Show you how to play?” He laughed, before scooting to the edge of the couch and brushing his knee against mine. “You played anything before?”
“My mom didn’t exactly deck out the trailer with a game console. But I can bowl with a rock and beer bottles.”
He smiled—the first genuine smile I had ever seen on Zepp Hunt’s face. And it made my heart do a stupid flip-flop. Just great.
“Right.” He took my thumb, then mashed it against one of the buttons. “This is what you press when you want to jump.” He moved my finger to the red dot. “This one shoots. And this one—” My thumb bumped the toggle. “It’s how you run and shit. You know, move your guy.”
“Okay. I got it.”
I pressed against the switch, and my army man darted across the screen. Bullets zoomed past, and I ducked behind a bush. Zepp shot me down in less than a minute.
When the next game started, he shifted a little closer on the couch. The pop of rapid gunfire came through the speakers, loud enough to wake anyone in the house. I glanced over my shoulder to the entranceway, wondering if Zepp’s parents were around. I’d never seen them, but that wasn’t uncommon in Dayton. Half of us had a hooker mom, a deadbeat dad, or a parent working three jobs just to survive.