Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. My parents don’t bother getting me any presents themselves. In fact, they don’t bother to even remember my birthday.
To them, I guess it’s not so important.
I was used to it — until Lila threw me a small birthday party at her grandparents’ house. It was just the four of us. Her grandma cooked dinner, Lila baked me a cake, and we spent the night playing Monopoly, before Lila and I fell asleep in her after watching a movie. It was the first time I slept over at her place and the first time I discovered what the true meaning of comfort is.
I make it to my Audi, but then come to a screeching halt when something catches my eye. My tires. Oh shit! I have flat tires.
Upon closer inspection, I see that they have been punctured. Purposely.
Damn it! I kick the tire in frustration. Great, so now I have two flat tires and zero spares.
Bad luck seems to follow me everywhere I go. Whoever is writing my destiny book is laughing at me.
“Do you need help?” a familiar deep voice says from behind me.
I jump, blood roaring between my ears in alarm. “Jesus, Grayson! Why do you keep doing that?” I spin around to face him. He’s so close that I almost smack my face into his chest. Stumbling back a step, I crane my neck up and look at his chiseled face.
Confused, he asks, “What?”
“Popping up out of nowhere,” I tell him blankly. “First at the coffee shop and now here.”
“Oh.” He appears flustered by my statement. “So, do you need help?” he asks again, more awkwardly this time.
“I have flat tires,” I deadpan, pointing at my car.
Grayson walks closer to it and squats down, inspecting my tires closely. His brows furrow, and I see the way his jaw tightens. A muscle ticks in his cheek. “It appears that someone did this purposely.”
Yeah, I know.
“Do you want to report this?” He stands up, his attention focused solely on me. I shift from one foot to the other, feeling anxious under his penetrating gaze. He’s always so… serious and formal. I can’t tell what’s in his head, what he’s thinking. “There are cameras in the parking lot.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s fine.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you want to report whoever did this?” He motions toward my car.
I heft my backpack higher and release the breath I’ve been holding. “Because I don’t want the trouble, and anyway, it’s pointless.”
Grayson is silent for a second, studying me closely before he nods. “Okay then, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Oh no, you don’t ha—
“I want to,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. Like I said before, bossy. But he doesn’t do it in an overwhelming or intimidating way. His bossiness is always accompanied with softness and understanding in his eyes.
Grayson Hale is the perfect gentleman, it seems.
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
Grayson’s voice drops low when he speaks again. “You’re never a bother to me, Riley.”
Oh…
His words send a jolt of electricity through my veins. I’m never a bother to him? Grayson has been so sweet to me, that his actions are almost unbelievable at one point.
Boys like him don’t exist. Not really. They are only appear in books.
In real life? Boys like him are not meant for girls like me. We don’t get the good guys. We get the rich and cruel jerks. Arrogant and brutish.
Boys like Grayson Hale go for the good girls. The ones without a scandal attached to their names. The ones with pretty hair, pretty eyes and pretty smiles. The sane, down-to-earth, sensible girls.
Not the unlucky girls, like me.
My life is in shambles, and I am a mess, ruined.
Grayson presses his fingertips on my lower back, carefully directing me toward his white Bentley. He opens the door for me, and I get in. After making sure I have my seat belt on, he closes my door and walks around to get to his side.
“Aren’t you supposed to go home with Oakylnn today?” I ask, when he starts the engine.
“No,” he simply states, reversing out of the parking lot.
No? That’s it? I’m learning new things about him. Grayson is a man of few words.
“But she said—
“What she said doesn’t concern us,” Grayson interrupts softly. “I’ve never given her a ride before, and if she really wants to come over for dinner, she can drive there on her own or with her parents.”
His words pique my curiosity. “Have you ever given any girl a ride before?” I don’t know why I asked the question out loud, but the moment the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. I mentally slap myself for being so weird, but I can’t help but be curious about Grayson.