Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“We kind of did,” I say. That’s the problem. We might get away with the crime the first time. But trying to pull off a perfect heist twice is too risky.
He sits upright now. “We got lucky. We have to stay lucky,” he says, pressing the point, begging for me to understand.
But I do understand. I reach for his hand and squeeze it. “I know,” I say in a broken voice. “And I’m going to drive you home now.”
We’re quiet on the way, cruising through the city as shoppers flood stores on Black Friday and Christmas lights hug trees and streetlamps.
That feels like a mockery of my heart too.
When I reach his home, a heaviness sinks into my gut. This is the last time I’ll drive here.
I could tell him I love him. I could tell him I’ll miss him. But that’ll only make our getaway harder.
“Goodbye, Beck,” I say as stoic as can be.
“Bye, Jason,” he says plainly. He’s stripped all the emotion from his voice.
He gets out of the car, walks to his front door, and goes inside without looking back.
I hit the gas and go.
37
ZOMBIE DAYS
Beck
What in the name of Joe Montana’s powerful arm is that unholy twittering at this hour on a Saturday morning?
I roll over and pull my pillow over my ears. I haven’t heard that sound in . . .
Oh. Right.
I haven’t heard the birds sing in two days because I spent the past two nights at Jason’s house.
But last night, I slept alone. As I’ll be doing for the rest of time.
With a miserable groan, I push up in bed, rub my eyes, and glance at the window. My love life is over forever, and my backyard neighbors are tweeting Beethoven’s freaking “Ode to Joy” out there, which is just rude.
The birds flutter past as if they’re spreading news from nest to nest. I peer out the window to get a better look. A yellow birdhouse is upended in the yard, like Dorothy’s home when it landed in Oz.
Ah, hell. I can’t repair my own sorry situation, but I can help Portia fix that. Even if the birds are insensitive A-holes.
I drag my pathetic ass out of bed, pull on shorts and a T-shirt, brush my teeth, and run my fingers through my hair. After sliding on flip-flops, I trudge to the door. I should be grateful. Jason and I escaped unscathed. I should focus on moving on. But mostly, I’m sad.
I walk around the home to the small yard in the back and discover I’m not alone. There’s a well-built guy bent over the birdhouse, his muscular back rippling through a thin red T-shirt. He straightens to his full height and turns, blinking when he sees me. He’s tanned, toned, and all guy-next-door. His sun-streaked golden hair is a little long like he can’t be bothered to cut it on the reg.
He shoots me a welcoming smile. “Hey. You must be Beck. I’m Bryan. Portia’s son.” He gives a chin nod in lieu of a handshake since he’s holding the birdhouse.
“I am. Nice to meet you,” I say, lifting my hand to wave. Funny that Portia wanted to set him up with me. This dude probably has no trouble finding dates up and down Los Angeles.
“You too,” he says, and I hesitate because I came out to help Portia, but her son beat me to it, so I’m no longer needed.
But I could be more social starting now. I’m not interested in a single soul other than Jason. But I don’t have to be Mister Anti-Social, nursing a broken heart.
I gesture to the birdhouse in his arms. “I saw it had fallen and was coming down to pick it up. But I have to work on my speed when it comes to saving birdhouses.”
He rolls his eyes but with humor. “I’m speedy because I’ve been too well trained. When Portia banged on my door five minutes ago, I had flashbacks of high school,” he says as he heads over to the post where the birdhouse belongs. “I never got up in time for school, and she was always shouting at me to get out of bed this second. Which is kind of what she did this morning when she saw the carnage.”
“She likes her birds just a little bit,” I say drily as he gets to work reattaching the wire to the hook at the top of the house.
“‘Like’ is an understatement. Her birds and her Renegades are her big loves,” he says, testing the strength of the wire. “I believe her words a few minutes ago were the birds are watching over Beck. Get out there now, Bryan! I know my place in the pecking order,” he continues. Meeting my eye with a grin, he raises his free hand as if measuring a spot well above his head. “Renegades up top. Which means you’re on that level too.” Then he lowers that hand as far as he can. “Then, everything and everyone else.”