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)
“Hey, just because you had a bad experience with Painter doesn’t mean he’s incapable of doing good things,” I snapped. “And what’s with this ‘I bet he’s good in the sack’ shit? I thought you slept with him last year, out at the Armory.”
The thought of them together still ate at me. I’d always sworn I didn’t want to know the details. Now I did. I totally did.
Jess looked away.
“It wasn’t a bad experience because of him, not really. I was fucked up that night, drunk and stupid. We spent about half an hour together in a room upstairs, me and him and another guy, Banks. That’s when London showed up to rescue me, along with Reese.”
“But how did you go from drunk and stupid to screwing two guys?” I asked without thinking. Shit, how inappropriate was that question? “Sorry.”
“We’ve covered the whole slut thing already,” Jess said, looking embarrassed. “So, moving along—that sucked. I was humiliated and pissed and I probably blamed him for a while, which is ridiculous because the whole thing was my idea in the first place. Not only that, he saved my life down in California and spent a year in jail for his trouble, so if anything, I owe him even more than I owe you. But here’s reality—he’s not interested in being with anyone long-term and unless you’ve been kidnapped and reprogrammed by aliens in the last twenty-four hours, you’re not looking to be a club whore. I just don’t see what good can come from the two of you sleeping together.”
“Maybe I just want to have fun,” I told her, resentment building. “Have you considered that? I’ve busted ass for years, trying to hold my dad together and my life and school and everything else. Maybe it’s my turn to have some fucking fun, so you should back off.”
Jess stared at me, stunned.
“Mel . . .”
“No,” I continued. I was on a roll. Maybe we should sort this shit out once and for all. “I love you and I appreciate the fact that you’re worried about me. You did your duty as a friend. I’m awarding you a gold star and a cookie, but now it’s time for you to walk out of here and let me make my own decisions.”
Jess stood slowly, still looking unhappy. “All right, then. I’ll leave you to it. But Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“When it all falls apart around you and you’re scared shitless? I want you to remember one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Remember that I’ll always be here for you, because I love you,” she said quietly, her voice breaking. “Just like you’ve always been here for me.”
“Shit, Jessica . . .” I said, eyes filling with tears. I stepped toward her as she stepped toward me and then we were hugging and I couldn’t quite remember why I’d been so pissed. We stood like that—holding each other—for long seconds. Finally she broke the silence.
“Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t think for one minute you’re off the hook for face painting.”
I pushed away, trying to glare at her but I started laughing instead, and then she started laughing and everything was okay.
• • •
Ten minutes later, I came racing down the stairs, my wet hair pulled into a loose bun on top of my head. I’d managed to clean up again, get dressed, brush my teeth, and even slapped on some lip gloss.
I hit the dining room, discovering the remains of our painting marathon the night before. Shit. I’d forgotten I needed to go buy paint. Jessica was going to kill me.
“Looking for these?” she asked, a shopping bag dangling from one hand.
“Face paints?” I asked hopefully. She nodded.
“Painter went out and bought them this morning.”
“See, he’s not that bad!”
She cocked a brow at me. “Seriously? He can buy you off with fifteen bucks of paint?”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“But I do it so well,” she said, a reluctant smile coming across her face. “It was thoughtful. I can admit that. He left a note, too.”
“Let me see,” I said. She dug out a piece of folded paper, handing it over.
“I’ll save you some time. He said he’s sorry he had to bail on volunteering, but that he didn’t want to leave you hanging after he used up all the paint. He’ll be in touch as soon as he can.”
I opened the note, and sure enough—she’d quoted it almost perfectly. Suddenly I had an ugly thought.
“Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how you’ve had the same phone code since high school, and I know that code?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you know my phone code?”
She stared at me, raising a brow.
“Of course.”
“I would never read your email or text messages. Just so you know.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Jess?”
She blinked at me innocently. Like Bambi. “Yeah?”
“Is it even remotely possible that you don’t read my messages?”
My best friend gave me a beautiful, loving smile.