Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Doesn’t sound like a joke to me,” I say coldly.
“Didn’t say it was a good one.” She hands me back my beer. “And I didn’t think my friends would run with the story. Turn it into a whole thing. I apologized to Casey tonight, if that matters.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Christ, all you assholes and your grudges. I miss Gabe. He never took things personally.”
I miss Gabe too.
If he were here right now, maybe I wouldn’t be standing in the shadows with Mila Whitlock while Casey is fifteen feet away wishing I was dead. Maybe I would have the answers I need. But he’s not here, and I can’t sell out my best friend if I don’t know for sure whether he’s responsible for the accident. Especially when I owe him one.
We still haven’t received a return message, and it’s starting to frustrate me because I don’t want to badger RJ every day about it. So far I’ve managed to sound more casual than desperate when I poke him about whether Gabe has made contact yet. But if we don’t hear from him soon, I might have to do something drastic to talk to Gabe.
I wonder how hard it is to break into a military school. I feel like maybe I could pull it off? Or I could hire a mercenary team to extract him. That would be sick.
“Whatever. This is boring. I’m bored.” With that, Mila flounces off in Oliver’s direction.
I drink the rest of my beer and toss the cup on the ground, then hear a derisive snort from behind me. I turn to find yet another chick I’ve hooked up with.
“There’s a trash bag like five feet away,” Rae Minato tells me. Flipping her long black hair over her shoulder, she shoulders past me to pick up my discarded cup.
“Didn’t see it,” I say lightly.
She disposes of the cup and saunters back, all long limbs and sex appeal. I haven’t seen her in ages, and I don’t mind the view.
“You done checking me out?” she asks.
“Do you want me to be?”
Rolling her eyes, Rae stands beside me. Her distressed jeans are practically pasted onto her endless legs, a cropped blue Ballard sweatshirt hanging off one pale shoulder.
“Why are you alone right now, Fenn?”
I teasingly poke her arm. “I’m not alone, Rae. You’re here.”
Ignoring that, her impossibly dark eyes drift toward the fire, then narrow. “Who’s the girl with Lawson? She keeps looking at us.”
“Yeah?” My heart skips a beat. Casey’s watching?
“Well, glaring more than looking.”
Glaring, huh. That’s a good sign. Means her feelings for me haven’t been completely extinguished. You don’t feel jealousy over someone you no longer care about.
“That’s Sloane’s sister,” I tell Rae.
When a breeze pushes some hair onto her forehead, I beat her fingers to it, tucking the errant strands behind her ear.
Rae starts to laugh. “Yeah… I’m not interested.”
“Why not? Didn’t we have fun that night in sophomore year? It was at, ah, Molly whatever’s place in Nantucket. Do you remember?”
“Martha’s Vineyard, and I remember.” Her tone has a bite to it. “Even if I wanted a repeat performance—which I don’t—I’m not on board with you using me to make some other chick jealous. Your fuckboy antics get real old, Fenn.”
With that, she sashays off.
Damn. The girl I remember from sophomore year was a lot sweeter. Granted, I deserved every harsh word. Not that I planned on hooking up with Rae or anything, but I was enjoying the murderous glares Casey was sending in our direction.
Running a hand through my hair, I make my way toward the fire. Mila and Oliver are now sitting with Casey and Lawson, and Gray Robson and some dark-haired girl I don’t recognize. Casey’s shoulders stiffen at my approach. Then she surprises me by flashing a little smirk.
“What? You strike out with that girl?” she asks mockingly. “You must be losing your touch.”
Lawson chuckles. Traitor. When he notices my scowl, he shrugs as if to say, what, I thought it was funny.
Mila stares at Casey. “Damn, Tresscott. You’re reminding me more and more of Sloane.”
Yes, she is, and I don’t like it. Because it’s not who she is. Sloane is undeniably hot, but she’s all hard edges. Some guys like the she-devil persona—God knows it turns my stepbrother on. But me, I don’t want a combative relationship.
Relationship.
The fact that the word so casually penetrates my consciousness tells me how far gone I am for this girl. I never cared about relationships before. Never wanted one. Then I met Casey, and for the first time, I could actually see myself being someone’s boyfriend.
Her boyfriend.
And I had to go and ruin it. Because that’s what I do. I ruin things. Any time I’m presented with a decision that has two clear outcomes—right or wrong—I take the wrong path. Even when I think it’s the right one, it still blows up in my face.