Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Do you work nine-to-five?”
“More like sixty-nine.” We took the stairway to the third floor.
The minute I saw the elevator bank in front of me, my smile collapsed. He couldn’t see that, since he had his back to me.
So that was where he took all of his hookups.
Where he and Melanie melded together into one.
I needed to say something to change the subject, quick.
“What do you wanna do? When you graduate this year?” I swiveled to face him, clearing my throat.
He ran a hand through his hair, the A tattoo in his flexed inner bicep taunting me, reminding me how little I knew about him.
“Sharp change of subject. Guess I haven’t thought about it.”
“Don’t you have any preference? Ideas? Aspirations?”
“No, no, and no.” He stopped, turned his back to me, and lifted his arms in the air. “I don’t want to talk about the future. Trust fall, Tex. Catch.”
Before I knew what was happening, his body swung toward mine. I let out a little wheeze, opening my arms to try to clasp him. Crap. I needed more time to prepare. He was heavy. Really heavy. I fell right along with him, crushed by his weight, and winced, bracing myself for the cold concrete behind me. But when he fell on top of me, his whole body pressed over mine, I realized there was a mattress behind me that blocked the fall.
That’s why he’d done it.
He knew I didn’t have time to catch him, but also that we’d both fall onto something soft. He’d just wanted to see if I’d try to catch him.
Damn this man.
I cackled, shoving him off of me. He rolled around, popping the tequila bottle open. He was about to take a swig, but I snatched it from his hand before he could.
“Not so fast, birthday boy. I would like to make a toast.”
He sat up, listening intently. Seriously. He looked like a curious kid all of a sudden, about to be given a very important lecture about his favorite subject.
It broke my heart to see him hungry for my words, because it was clear he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. He didn’t do anything with his friends and didn’t bother telling me about it until later today.
In fact, he was planning to work a shift at the food truck.
For some reason, West St. Claire wasn’t very happy he’d been born, and knowing that nearly undid my soul, breaking it to pieces.
“I would like to make a toast to a very special friend of mine, who, despite my being stubborn and sometimes a handful, is always there for me.” I tried to keep my tone casual, but I was pretty emotional, realizing all the things I said weren’t an exaggeration of the truth.
West rolled his eyes. “Get to the part where you talk about me, you little shit.”
I swatted his shoulder. “I don’t care what the entire universe says about you, West St. Claire. I don’t care that you are a fighter and you ride a monster named Christina and that you’re a man-whore. To me, you’re just a cool guy who always does the right thing, and that’s enough. No.” I felt myself flushing. “It’s more than enough. It’s everything. Happy birthday, jerk-face.”
I tipped my head back, took a swig of the tequila, and passed it to him, embracing the burning sensation slithering down my throat. We stayed on that mattress for two whole hours, drinking and talking. The conversation was all over the place, ranging from our childhoods to football, TV shows and music, then books. The more we drank, the less we made sense, until we both had two completely separate conversations at the same time.
By the time we finished the bottle, it was dark outside. The Plaza got surprisingly chilly. We were both perched on the mattress, our arms brushing, staring at the ceiling.
“Know what I feel like?” I asked.
“Pushing me away for no fucking reason other than your heighten sense of self-preservation?” he asked dryly. I snickered. Touché.
“Some real Mexican food to soak up all the alcohol.”
He picked up the empty tequila bottle, squeezing one eye shut as he stared into the bottom of it. “You mean, like fish tacos and tortilla chips?”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t know where we can find something like that ’round here.”
We exchanged knowing grins. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t okay, but it made perfect sense. Hell, we’d broken so many rules today, one more wouldn’t kill us.
And really, Mrs. Contreras would never find out.
“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, birthday boy?” My grin widened.
“I’m thinking Texas just got a whole lot more fun.”
We staggered into the food truck, locking it behind us, keeping the window shut. I turned around and pressed my index to my mouth.
“Shhh!”
“We’re both quiet, dummy.” He gave my neck a squeeze, chuckling as he brushed past me.