Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
“Yeah, you are.”
My eyebrows rise. “No, I’m not,” I say more forcefully. “Look, you’re right, we don’t really know each other, but here’s something I know about you: you’re Hunter’s friend. Here’s something you know about me: Hunter took my virginity. Given those two facts, without investigating any further, isn’t it safe to say this isn’t kosher? I’m not going out with one of Hunter’s friends. It’s a dick move, and we may not be together, but I do still care about him.”
“I care about him, too,” he says easily. “I wasn’t suggesting we hook up, Riley. Trust me, if I wanted to fuck you, I’d be much more persuasive. I just want you to come to his party with me.”
I frown, confused. “Why?”
“Have you talked to the guy lately?”
I shake my head.
“He’s not doing so hot. He’s kind of a mess, actually. He’s partying every night, blowing off school. If he doesn’t get his shit together, he’s going to get kicked off the football team. He hasn’t been right since homecoming, and while he hasn’t exactly opened up and shared his troubles, it’s not that hard to piece together. Obviously, something went down between you two. That’s your business. I just thought it might do him some good to see you. Maybe snap him out of it.”
“You mean, seeing him there with you might snap him out of it.”
He shrugs, not denying it.
I sigh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Hunter’s a jealous guy. If I show up with you—”
“He’ll wake up,” Sherlock interrupts, cutting to the point. “It’s not real. We won’t keep it going. We won’t lie to the guy. We’ll show up together and let him draw the obvious conclusion, but that’s it, then it’s over. He needs a shock to his system, something to drag him out of this self-destructive spiral he’s heading toward. If you can’t count on your friends to help pull your head out of your ass when you need it, who can you count on?”
When he puts it that way, it makes a lot of sense.
I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea, but lunch is nearly over and I don’t want to give him my number, so I don’t have long to think it over.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll meet you at his house. He lives close to me, so I can walk over and meet you out front.”
“You sure? I could pick you up.”
That’s too much like a date, so I shake my head.
Sherlock nods. “All right. As long as we walk in together, he won’t know I didn’t bring you. Let’s show up late, though, once the party is in full swing.”
“Okay. What time should I get there?”
“I’m thinking 11,” he says, standing and grabbing his lunch tray. Before he goes to discard his trash, he smiles at me and says, “Wear something sexy.”
___
Bad idea, party of two.
I turn, sighing as I inspect my own reflection in the mirror.
I look good. Really good. My dark hair is down the same as always, but I put on some dramatic eye makeup that makes my blue eyes really pop. I glossed up my lips and borrowed an outfit from my mom—I don’t have anything sexy. My skirt is short and black. The red top I borrowed is super sexy, a solid cami top underneath and a sheer layer over it.
It’s actually so sexy, I have second thoughts about wearing it. I almost take the whole outfit off and change into simple jeans and a T-shirt, but I’m running late as it is.
I grab the Kate Spade bag Hunter bought me since it matches my outfit best, then I head out to go to his house.
Unfortunately, Mom’s home.
“Whoa, holy hell, where do you think you’re going?”
I slow to a stop, tugging on my skirt. Ray is on the couch with her, so I’m more conscious of how short it is. That’s probably a clear indication it’s too short and I should go change.
“Um, a party.”
Mom blinks at me. “A party? With who?”
“A guy.”
Her eyes narrow. “Does this guy have a name?”
My heart beats harder, but I’m relieved she asked about the guy and not where the party was. “His name is Ryden Sherlock.”
Faint surprise flashes across her face. “Oh. Sherlock. I don’t know that name. I mean, I do, but assuming he is not a fictional British detective, I’m thinking of a different one. Have I met his mom?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Not a PTO mom?”
“I really don’t know. I don’t know him that well. He’s a friend of—” I stop, horrified, and try to backpedal. “Sherlock’s on the football team. He reads. He likes turkey sandwiches and bottled water. This is the extent of my knowledge about him.”
She smiles teasingly. “Is he cute?”
“He is,” I say with a nod.