Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
“Mellie, you’re too easy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know you didn’t get laid—but can you blame me for giving you shit? You always blush so hard. It’s really funny because you’d never hook up at a party. You’re always the good girl.”
I scowled, then dropped down next to her on the couch. I couldn’t decide whether to be offended she thought I couldn’t get any action or thankful that she didn’t suspect anything. Reaching down, I tried to loosen my boots. This proved harder than it should be, because my fingers weren’t working quite right.
“Just because I’m good at school doesn’t mean I can’t hook up,” I reminded her. “It’s not like I’m a virgin.”
“You’ve slept with three guys, correct?” she asked, arching a brow. I nodded, wincing as I thought about that last one . . . none of them had been great, but John had actually hurt me. Terrible, terrible aim that boy had.
“And when was the last time you got laid?” she continued.
“It’s been a while,” I admitted.
“Since you met Painter.”
I shrugged, refusing to dignify her questions with a reply. That would only encourage the wench.
“That’s a dead end and you know it,” she said, flapping her hand in dismissal. “I need you to get off your ass and grab some action—since I swore off sex, I’m counting on you, Mel. You’re my everything.”
She stared at me with adoring, mocking puppy dog eyes.
Flipping her off, I flopped back into the couch cushions, propping my feet up on the coffee table we’d scrounged at the St. Vinnie’s thrift shop. It was battered and hideous, but it was solid enough to hold a pizza and a six-pack, which was all that mattered (at least according to Jess).
“You’re not as smart as you think,” I mumbled. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m surprised Loni didn’t come in to say hi when she dropped you off,” she said, flopping back next to me. “She usually does.”
“I didn’t ride home with Loni,” I hedged, still feeling raw and embarrassed about what’d happened. I didn’t like lying to Jessica, but I wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet. Especially since I knew she’d been to a party out at the Armory—not a family party—and she’d gotten further with Painter than I had.
Guess I was good enough when he was bored in jail and wanted letters. Now? Not so much. I looked over at Jess, wondering exactly what’d happened between them. She’d said that they’d “fucked around,” but what did that really mean? She said not to worry about it, that it wasn’t important . . . But Jessica was gorgeous. Stunning. And while she might be younger than me, she was decades older in terms of experience. No wonder Painter wasn’t interested in yours truly.
I wasn’t his type.
“So who gave you a ride?” she asked, frowning. “Em and Kit were drunk. Was it Hunter? Or did they send you with a prospect?”
I thought about lying . . . making up a name or something. Jess tended to have a short attention span, so she’d probably forget all about it unless I was stupid enough to tell her—
“Omigod, you got a ride home with Painter!” she accused suddenly. “I can see the guilt written all over your face. How the hell did that happen?”
Shit.
“Yes,” I admitted slowly. Might as well tell her the whole ugly story. “He’s not interested in me—just ignored me, like he did the day we moved. But then I met another guy and . . .”
“What?” she demanded. I closed my eyes, trying to think and then opened them again because the room was spinning like crazy. For an instant I thought I might puke. Thankfully it passed.
“So he dragged me off and told me I didn’t belong there,” I admitted. “We were arguing about it and he was all up in my face, and then he was holding my hair so I kissed him.”
Jess scowled.
“He’s not a good guy,” she said. “I mean, he’s done some good things, I’ll give him that. But these bikers are dangerous, Mel. I’ve told you all along—you have to stay away from him.”
This wasn’t the first time we’d had this talk—she’d been furious when she first learned we’d been writing to each other. Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to me. I’d had it before, but I’d never asked her about it because it seemed wrong.
I wasn’t feeling so inhibited tonight, though.
“So, I have to know . . .” I started, wondering how to say it. Gee, Jessica, do you still want to have sex with my weird, nonfriend prison pen pal? Hmm. That didn’t sound right. What exactly was the most tactful way to ask your BFF if she hoped to bone the guy you’re secretly in love with but who has no interest in you because he sees you as a helpless child?