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)
“Like I said. Guys aren’t friends with girls.”
The message on the screen forced a sigh from my lips.
Chase: I’m sorry I kissed you.
Chase: I’ve been in love with you since we were ten years old.
Chase: Please talk to me.
I closed my eyes, my heart letting out a guilty squeeze. I was horrible to him last night. And he was in love with me. This was all so messed up.
“Tell me you didn’t kiss him.”
My eyes snapped open. “No! I shoved him off.”
Zepp bristled beside me, his gaze aimed at the wall, most likely plotting where to bury Chase.
“Pretty sure he wouldn’t have done it if we weren’t broken up,” I said.
Chase took what he saw as an opportunity. It wasn’t a personal affront to Zepp, but Zepp probably wouldn’t see it that way.
“You know, if it’s any consolation.”
One of his brows lifted. He thumbed over his nose ring. “You’re mine, Monroe. Any guy should know that. Regardless.”
I wasn’t even going to address that right now. Because I had bigger problems. Like my childhood friend declaring his love. On a long groan, I fell back against the pillows. God, was there something wrong with me? How did I not see this shit coming? First Max… “Is it something I do?” I asked.
The anger on Zepp’s face faded. He took the phone from my hand, then tossed it across the room. “It’s nothing you do.” He settled over me, kissing my throat. “It’s just because you’re you, Monroe. I can’t blame the fucker for being in love with you.” His lips met my jaw. “Even if I want to kill him.”
“Don’t kill him,” I said, grabbing his face.
“Fine.” His lips pressed to mine with a little swipe of his tongue. “I’ll just break his arm.”
“No broken bones.” I kissed him. “If you loved someone else, it would break my heart. I feel kind of bad. For him.”
“I could never love anyone else, Roe. You’re it for me.”
And he was it for me. Because no one had ever loved me like he did. And I wasn’t sure I could live without it.
37
Zepp
I had spent the last day, out in the cold, under the hood of Monroe’s car, tuning the engine and tinkering with the alternator. Nothing worked. The car was as good as scrap metal.
I slammed the hood and started across the yard. “You need a new engine, and that orange piece of shit isn’t worth the money.”
Monroe sat on the back steps, one of my sweatshirts nearly swallowing her. She frowned when I dropped to the stair beside her, then kissed her forehead.
“We can find you a new car for the cost of an engine.”
On a groan, she dropped her head to my shoulder. “Thanks for trying.”
“And whatever you get, it’s not gonna be orange.”
She snorted a laugh. We sat there for a minute, both staring at her car until her phone beeped beside her on the step. She glanced at the screen and sighed. “I need to go somewhere before I go to Jade’s. You should probably come with me.” She shifted on the step, shoving her hands in the front pocket of the sweatshirt before she pushed to her feet. “Jade might shit the bed on this one.”
I squinted against the bright sun spilling through the trees. If she was asking me to go with her, I knew it had to be bad. “Where do you need to go?”
“Northside.”
People didn’t go to Northside unless they were selling or buying. Or looking to get killed. “Why?”
“To buy some crack.” She grabbed her phone from the stair and tapped the screen. “My mom’s withdrawing, and Jerry’s disappeared.”
I leaned back on the step. This was Dayton. Through and through. Most of us wouldn’t bat an eye at someone overdosing anymore, because we grew up seeing it. As much as I didn’t want to go, I knew she didn’t have a choice. And that was shit.
“All right.”
By the time I had scored some crack for her mom, the sun was setting. The cold wind bit through my jacket when I sped back to the trailer park, and when we pulled up in her drive, it was completely dark outside.
I climbed off my bike, heading up the stairs after Monroe.
She paused with her hand on the door. “You don’t have to come in, Zepp.”
But still, I followed her inside.
A heap of blankets sat bundled on the couch, and when the door closed behind me, the pile moved. A woman sat up, bleach-blond hair in disarray, cheeks hollowed. My stomach kinked and knotted because she reminded me of my mother, of the moments I had tried my damnedest to push into the dark recesses of my mind and forget.
Monroe chucked the bag at her.
Within seconds, her mom had tied off her arm and was thumping at the syringe. Her furrowed brow relaxed, and she sank back against the couch on a relieved sigh, her gaze drifting from Monroe to me.