Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Moving quickly, I changed out of Rome’s clothes and back into mine. Well, back into most of mine. The bra was totally mangled from the machine. The underwire was practically a figure eight, and several patches of lace had torn off completely.
At least one good thing had come from my crazy night out.
Folding up the borrowed shirt and shorts, I found my phone and slinked out the door, feeling like a criminal. Thirty seconds later I was down the steps and headed toward Mom’s place.
Hopefully my black eye would distract Lexi from the fact that I’d destroyed her push-up bra, I mused. That might be almost enough to make up for the whole flying cowboy attack.
Then I pictured walking into my reunion covered in bruises. Nope, the bra wasn’t enough to balance it out. For better or worse, the night had been a total failure. It didn’t matter how sexy or fun Rome McGuire might be.
He wasn’t the right guy for me.
Mom and Kayden were still sleeping when I got home, but I found Lexi up already. She’d been sitting at the table, drinking coffee and playing with her phone.
Then she saw my bruises and dropped the phone.
Shit.
I’d hoped that I’d be able to sneak in, maybe throw on some concealer before I had to face anyone. I raised a finger to my lips, reminding her to stay quiet. Kayden was sleeping on the couch because he’d given up his bunk bed for me.
“What the hell?” she whispered, somehow managing to make it sound like she was yelling. “Did he hit you? Because if he did, I’m going to hunt him down and—”
“No, it’s not like that,” I whispered back, grabbing her arm. I dragged her down the hall to her bedroom, shutting the door and leaning back against it. “There was a fight at the bar. Some guy crashed into me and I hit the ground. Rome had nothing to do with it.”
“What? Where the hell did he take you?”
“The Starkwood Saloon,” I admitted.
“What part of ‘somewhere nice’ does he not get?” she asked, still furious. “What the fuck is wrong with him? And what the fuck’s wrong with you? Any man who takes you on a date that ends with facial injuries does not deserve sex. This is some Mom-level stupidity, Randi. I expected better from you.”
“I don’t think someone with a history of shoplifting condoms should be lecturing me about stupidity,” I snapped back at her.
“Really?” Lexi asked, raising a brow. “That’s the best you got?”
We glared at each other for long seconds, neither of us blinking.
“Rome remembered that I like to dance,” I said finally, breaking the standoff. “And there was a good band playing. He was trying to take me somewhere fun. The fight just happened randomly—it’s not like he planned it or something.”
“Um, no. The Starkwood Saloon has lots of fights. Don’t bullshit yourself,” she countered bluntly. “But I guess it worked out okay for him—you may have gotten a black eye, but he still got laid. Very efficient.”
“He didn’t get laid,” I insisted. Then I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Sometimes it was so hard to remember that she was only sixteen. “We went back to his place last night because I looked like death on a stick. I didn’t want to freak you guys out in the middle of the night. And not to be a bitch, but you’re the one who filled my purse with condoms—slut shaming me seems a little hypocritical. I’m a legal adult, which means I’m allowed to have sex whenever I want.”
“You still look like death on a stick,” she replied, ignoring the rest of what I’d said. “And Mom is definitely going to freak out. So will Kayden. This isn’t about sex. It’s about a man who should’ve been protecting you letting someone beat you up instead.”
“I look a hell of a lot better than I did last night,” I told her grimly. “And don’t worry—it’s not like I’ll see him again. Even if I get that job and move back, I don’t see us dating. He’s not my type.”
“Do you really think you’ll move back?” she asked, jumping on the comment. For an instant, I caught a hint of vulnerability. Then it was gone again and she sniffed. “Not that I care.”
“I don’t know,” I replied slowly, not wanting to get up her hopes. “Depends on whether they make me an offer. I can’t afford to move without work lined up.”
“Well, obviously,” she said, looking away. Silence fell for a few seconds. Then she added, “You know, makeup will never cover that bruise. Maybe we can fix your hair so it hangs down over it a little. How do you feel about bangs?”
“I haven’t had bangs since I was five years old.”