Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“I promise…I’m s-so s-sorry. I didn’t––”
“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”
Speaking of the devil…why is he here?
Eyes closed, he pushes the wet hair back off his forehead, and I hand him a clean towel, then guide him to sit on the closed toilet seat.
“Don’t rub, just pat dry.”
“You didn’t stutter,” he says, the sound muffled by the towel to his face.
“I d-don’t always.” My voice sounds weak and pathetic and I want to kick myself for not having better control.
“This stings like a bitch.”
“It’s s-supposed to…the milk n-neutralizes the capsaicin.”
“Dora! A word please.” Zoe’s voice comes through the door like a battering ram.
“Just…give me a minute,” I tell Dallas. He holds the towel to his face while I step away and close the bathroom door behind me.
“W-what?”
Zoe is still wearing the purple mask, her platinum hair is piled on top of her head. She’s got on men’s silk pajamas, and her whatever, Golden Goose sneakers.
“What?” I reiterate, desperate to get on with it and return to the guy I maimed.
“He’s an empty vessel. You know that, right?” She pokes my nose with her index finger, and I swat it away. “Don’t fall for the pretty packaging. You’re too smart for that.”
“I’m not f-falling for anything. I blinded the guy in case you haven’t noticed.”
“That was kinda kick-ass, Ramos.”
“Totally kick-ass,” Blake adds.
“Impressive, you little ninja bitch.”
“Can I go now? I’m t-trying to fix the damage I caused.”
Zoe eyeballs me suspiciously for a beat before waving me off. “Carry on––and remember what I said.”
When I enter the bathroom again, Dallas is on his feet and examining his face in the mirror, his eyes barely cracked open. The little I can see is completely bloodshot.
“Still pretty.” He smiles crookedly in the reflection in the mirror, his eyes watering like crazy. “Can you drive me home?”
“I should take you to an e-emergency room.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “All I need is a ride back to my place.”
A few minutes later I’m guiding him to my car.
“What happened to you?” says the boy that Zoe introduced me to at the house party we all attended the day the Sharks won against the Bruins. He’s standing in the kitchen making a sandwich that looks to be approximately the size of my car.
He’s the tallest of the water polo players, with a sharp jaw, strong masculine features, and a full pouty mouth. His name is Brock, if I remember correctly. I also remember that Zoe––as much as she likes to deny it––has a major thing for this guy.
“She maced me,” Dallas tells Brock and hooks a thumb in my direction.
I had to help him out of the car and into the house because he can barely keep his eyes open. Figured the least I can do is set him up with some cold compresses for his poor damaged eyes and leave.
“It’s about time somebody did,” Brock mumbles around a bite of his sandwich. Then studying me curiously, he says, “Have we met?”
“Y-Yes. Zoe introduced us. At the party.”
“Ah yes,” He throws an accusing glare at Dallas, “the night you were acting like a douche.”
After wiping his hand on his shorts, he offers me his hand. “Hi again. I’m Brock, Dallas’s roommate.”
A big smile grows on my face. Despite the serious and frankly intimidating expression, I get the feeling that Brock Peterman is a really sweet guy. “Dora R-Ramos.”
A new guy comes around the corner, wearing a black leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet tucked under his pit. He stops short when he sees me. I recognize him from around campus and the water polo games. Another defensive player.
He checks out Dallas, who’s taken a seat at the counter. “What’s wrong with your face?”
“Dora maced me.”
“Cool.” Cole’s attention doubles-back to me. “I’m Cole––Lughead’s brother.” Cole indicates to the recliner where Brock is busy reading and making fast work of his massive sandwich.
“Dora. N-Nice to meet you.”
Cole Peterman is the polar opposite of his brother in every way. He’s completely unapproachable. His demeanor blandly arrogant. His body not nearly as broad and muscled. His features refined. His hair nearly black and longish. And eyes such a dark blue they may as well be indigo. They’re completely shuttered. This guy is not letting anyone in or out.
His gaze flickers up and down my body, his examination dispassionate. I’m still wearing the same leggings and t-shirt I had on to power walk so I really have nowhere to hide.
“Milk?” I ask Dallas. When I don’t get an answer, I turn to find a frown on his face, his attention fixed on Cole. “Dallas? Do you h-have any milk?”
Shaking off whatever was going on in his head, he gets up and goes to grab the milk from the refrigerator.
“I n-need a small bowl and cotton pads or c-compresses?”
“I’ll get them,” Cole Peterman announces.