Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Maybe,” I agree to appease Hope. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she’s on the phone with Lilly the second we end our conversation.
If I’m not careful our two first ladies will have Emily and me walking down the aisle, their kids as our flower girl and ring bearer, and building us a house out in the woods.
And I’m definitely not ready for any of that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Emily
It’s dark by the time I arrive to pick up Libby. It’s a cool evening. I lean on my car in the circular parking lot with parents waiting for their kids.
Libby sent me a text about ten minutes ago saying the bus just got off the Thruway. How slow does that thing go?
The dad of one of Libby’s friends slides up next to me. Evan? Ethan? Eric? Something with an E, I think. In my head, I’ve always referred to him as creepy-old-dude-who-stares-at-my-tits. I zip my jacket up to my chin.
“Sounds like they had a good time,” he says.
While I hadn’t gotten as many updates as I would’ve liked, the messages Libby did send seemed positive. “It does.”
“Caroline’s trying to convince me to take her again next month. You and Libby should join us.”
Hell no. “Thank you, Eric—”
“Frank,” he corrects.
I nod to acknowledge his name. “I’ll ask my boyfriend if he can get off work.”
Of course the excuse backfires on me.
“I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend,” he says, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “What does he do?”
Fuck. “He runs his own business.” Dex said his MC owns Crystal Ball, he’s an officer in the club. Therefore, that’s close enough.
He opens his mouth as if he has follow-up questions but we’re interrupted by another parent. She slides up to Frank and wraps her hands around his arm in a possessive hold.
He’s all yours, lady.
“Emily, this is Melanie’s mother.” Frank shakes free of the woman and nods at me. “Melissa, have you met Libby’s—”
“Oh my gawd!” Melissa shouts, raking her gaze over me. “You musta been a baby when you had that girl.”
“Uh, I was a teenager when my parents had her,” I correct.
“Oh, right, right.” She waves a hand in my face. “Forgot.”
Did this lady come to pick up her kid after guzzling a bottle of merlot?
I’m saved from any more of this conversation by the bus headlights sweeping over the parking lot. Some of the parents cheer the arrival. I use it as an opportunity to escape whatever weird thing Frank and Melissa have going on.
Libby’s one of two dozen weary teenagers who stumble off the bus. Each one of them trying to appear cool and not all that eager to hug their parents in front of all their peers.
I finally spot Libby and raise my hand. She says something to one of her friends who turns and waves at me. A few seconds later, Libby makes her way over to me. I hold out my hand for one of her bags.
“Thanks,” she huffs, and hitches her backpack on her shoulder.
I want to hug her and pepper her with a dozen questions. But I’m careful not to embarrass her in front of her friends. “Ready to head home?” I ask.
“God, yes. Get me outta here,” she mumbles.
Chuckling to myself, I lead her to the car.
“So, how was the trip?” I ask.
“Good,” she answers without much enthusiasm. “I’m beat though. We hardly slept.”
As I pull out of the school’s parking lot, she rummages through her purse. “Em? Oh, wait. Never mind. Phew. I thought I left my phone on the bus.”
“Speaking of forgetting things, you left your pills at home.”
“Aw, crap.” She smacks her forehead. “I totally forgot. I wondered why I felt all crampy this morning.”
“Eh, I’ve done it. It’s only a problem if—”
“I…I didn’t hook up with anyone,” Libby says in a mortified rush of words.
Once we leave the lit-up area around the school, I flick on the high-beams.
“I wasn’t saying you did,” I assure her. “I wouldn’t be upset if you had,” I lie, smooth as butter. “You can always come to me with anything that’s on your mind. Good or bad.”
“Trust me, if I had hooked up on the trip, I’d be begging you to drive me straight to Walmart to buy me some Plan B.” She sits forward and points at the windshield.
“And I’d be stepping on the gas,” I answer.
She chuckles, then sighs. “Caroline kept trying to hook up with Troy. It was so cringey to watch.”
“Is that the kid who’s helping you with math?”
“Yeah. We were trying to hang out when everyone went ice skating but she kept butting in and flapping her long, fluffy, fake eyelashes at him.” She huffs.
“That’s not nice,” I answer carefully. “If she knows you like him.”
“I don’t like him.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
Suuuure you don’t. “So, why’d it bother you that she was flirting with him?”