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)
This hadn’t been covered in my English lit class.
“What?” she asked, shutting her laptop and leaning it against the side of the couch. “Let me guess—you’re trying really hard to figure out a nice way to ask me if I’m still lusting after Painter, because that’s the kind of girl I am? Always chasing guys?”
I coughed, feeling like a complete bitch for even thinking about it. But that was the problem—it’d been eating at me for a while, which was so not fair on so many levels, because Jess had changed her ways. Mostly. (It was the “mostly” part that caused the concern.)
“Maybe. I noticed he pulled you aside to talk to you for a few minutes during the move . . .”
“I can’t decide if that’s funny or insulting as hell.”
“Funny?” I asked weakly. Jessica leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed.
“One, I’ve taken a temporary vow of celibacy.”
“Yes, but you’ve never said for how long and even you have to admit you’re impulsive as hell,” I pointed out, figuring I might as well play it out now that we’d started the discussion. “For all I knew, the vow ended earlier today.”
“Good point,” she said, rolling her head to grin at me. Oh, thank God. She wasn’t too pissed. But she hadn’t answered my question yet, either. “No worries. I’d never touch Painter, Mel, assuming he was even interested—and he isn’t. He doesn’t give two shits about me. Not only that, you’re way more important to me than some asshole biker. And I’m really working on the whole impulse control thing. I know I’ve got a long way to go, but it’s actually going pretty well. Admit it—there’s been at least a twenty-five percent reduction in drama.”
I laughed, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Give yourself some credit—I’d say thirty. You’d be at forty if it wasn’t for the Tire Iron Incident.”
Jessica sighed.
“Yeah. That wasn’t my finest moment. Although you want to know a secret?” she asked, pulling back to offer me a wicked grin.
“What?”
“I know I told Reese and Loni that I was sorry, but I’d totally do it again. The asshole deserved it in a big way. I swear, I practically came when I finally broke through the windshield on that dickwad’s car. I’ll take vengeance over sex any day.”
She waggled her eyebrows at me again, and I gave her a fake stern look, channeling Reese.
“This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Jess,” I said, mimicking his tone and words exactly. “Your ass would be in jail right now if that little fuck wasn’t so scared of the Reapers. Next time I’ll let them haul you away, too.”
“I’m sorry, Reese,” she replied, lowering her head and biting her lip. “I guess I just lost control. I’ll have to talk to my counselor about it . . .”
That was enough to set us both off laughing, which really wasn’t very nice because Reese was a good guy—not only was he batshit crazy about Loni, he treated both me and Jess like his own daughters.
“I have a secret for you, too,” I admitted as our giggles finally died down.
“What’s that?”
“Loni totally thought he had it coming, too. I overheard her telling Reese that if you hadn’t taken out the windshield, she would’ve. He got pissed, too.”
“Really?” Jess asked, obviously surprised. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, he said that if she needs windows broken, she should talk to him. He’ll send a prospect to do it for her, because he doesn’t want her getting cut. Then they started kissing again and I snuck off before all the PDA made me barf.”
Her mouth dropped.
“He’s a seriously good guy,” she said quietly. I nodded, thankful that things felt right between us again.
“I’m sorry I asked you.”
“I know.”
She gave me a sad smile, and there were secrets in her eyes I still wondered about. There was a connection there, between what’d happened to her and Painter going to jail. I’d written to him, asking what he wanted me to do with his car. He’d told me to hold on to it, and sent a funny cartoon sketch of himself studying a tray of prison food, looking confused and disgusted.
Tilting my head up, I stared at the ceiling, contemplating the situation. Were we ever really friends at all?
“Jess, I know everyone says the Reapers do some seriously fucked-up shit,” I said softly. “Do you think the rumors are true? I mean, if Reese is such a good guy . . .”
Jessica sighed heavily.
“The rumors are true, Mel,” she said, her voice bleak. “Whatever shit you think they’re doing, it’s worse. Way worse. Trust me on that one.”
I blinked rapidly, wondering why the hell my eyes were suddenly watering, because I’d been through way too much in my life to cry over a boy.
No, not a boy. Painter Brooks was definitely a man. Jess reached for the remote, turning on the TV we’d gotten as a housewarming present from Loni, along with three big bags of groceries. Some stupid reality show came on, and after a few minutes I remembered that I needed a Fudgsicle so I went into the kitchen to hunt one down.