Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Trent flashed me a grin, ducking out into the hallway.
It was just Keith and me. This was a scene in one of my nightmares, but Keith didn’t seem disturbed. He had sat down behind his desk and started going through some papers.
“They’re around,” he said, distracted.
I saluted him. “Way to be helpful.”
I picked up one of my bags and started for the door. Apparently, I needed to de-fish a fishing cabin.
I took two steps to the door and heard, “And Charlie?”
My heart sank. I didn’t look back.
“You’re looking real good. You’ve not let yourself go.”
I looked now, glaring, and he smirked. He never gave a shit. Well, neither would I now, and I extended my hand, my middle finger very prominent as I waved it at him.
“Fuck off, Keith. Fuck off.”
I left, his smug laughter trailing behind me.
“Always the joker, Charlie.”
Owen was always the most responsible, kindest, and organized of our entire group. He probably would’ve earned a promotion a long time ago. Maybe I’d be proactive in helping him get that promotion.
A lot proactive. Keith had to go.
The trail to the fishing cabin wasn’t very big, just wide enough for my car to fit. Barely. Tree branches scraped the side, but I had to prioritize: save my already-piece-of-crap car from maybe one or two scratches or save myself a broken back from carrying all of my stuff on foot.
After further thought, I reprioritized and grabbed one of the golf carts the camp used. I was fairly certain I needed to sign a whole other form to be allowed to drive one of them, but that was Keith’s fault. That was my rationale. If he hadn’t been such a dick, I might’ve gone through the appropriate channels, which would’ve meant getting one of the maintenance guys to drive me. But I knew who that would’ve been, and that was another history hill I didn’t want to climb. Not yet, anyway.
When I arrived, a station wagon was already there, the back end opened up, matching the windows and the two doors to the cabin, which were also propped open.
And as I walked in through the side door, a voice blared from the bathroom, “Did someone let the dogs out?”
Another voice chimed in, “Woof! Woof!”
I found Owen dancing in the living room, a purple bandana on his head, tied at the base of his neck. He wore an old camp staff shirt. It was faded in patches and ripped at the sleeves. He threw his head back, his mouth forming to howl at the next words, and he jumped backward on one foot. Eyes closed, he stopped and did a full-body twirl, a purple feather duster in his hand.
He wasn’t alone.
Hadley came dancing in to join him from the bathroom.
She’d been a petite thing back then, and she still was, but she didn’t dance like it.
Baggy jeans rode low on her hips with the legs rolled at her ankles, ’80s-style. She had a shirt hanging off her, with the sleeves cut off and the ends rolled and stuffed under her sports bra straps. Both had gone with the purple theme today—even Hadley’s hair ties were purple at the end of her two French braids.
Her eyes were closed, her hand in the air, her head down, and she was doing a running-man-inspired dance. Her feet were pumping as she inched toward her man, one bounce at a time. When she stopped feeling the hand in the air, she put both in front of her and started doing a jig, kicking her feet out to the side.
This.
These two people. This dancing. Knowing that when I made myself known to them, they wouldn’t be embarrassed. They might turn the music up and dance around me in circles.
I had missed this too.
The song changed, and a slow bass began—Eminem’s “Ass Like That.” As one person, they jumped toward each other. Hadley leapt high enough to turn all the way around, her ass doing its own dance.
Owen crouched around her, pretending to frame her booty like he was a photographer giving his model instructions.
Then he looked up, and his mouth dropped.
Hadley continued popping it with the rhythm, then leaned back and pretended to slap someone’s ass in front of her. When she backed into Owen and realized he had stopped, she looked up.
Her mouth dropped too.
I waved. “If you’re having a dance-off, is there a way to cheat?”
They paused. One second.
“Charlie!” Hadley screeched.
Owen offered his own awkward wave. “Hey, Charlie.”
She launched herself at me. I hadn’t seen this woman in eight years, but that didn’t matter. She leap-frogged and stuck to me like a window suction animal—legs around my waist, arms around my shoulders, and she climbed up, settling into a better position.
I reacted on instinct, grabbing her so she didn’t pull us both down.
That’s how my hand landed on her ass, and she wiggled it, mewing into my neck. “Aw, she’s missed us too, D. And there’s no cheating in a dance-off.”