Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Crew
I spot her instantly. She’s lying flat on the grass, a giant pair of bright-yellow shades covering half her face. If it weren’t for the protective hold she has on the massive Slurpee, I’d swear she was out.
Completely fucking oblivious, as usual.
I take the last three steps toward her, pausing with my shoes a foot from her head.
“I could murder you right now and you’d have never seen me coming.”
Her eyes open behind the cheaply tinted glasses.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for my headache to morph into a sugar rush, so I can move without feeling like Travis Barker is giving me a personal show from inside my brain.”
I lift a brow. “That bad?”
“The baddest. I’m talking Memphis the morning after Sarah Hall broke up with him, senior year, and you snuck from my dad’s liquor cabinet to help.”
Her eyes fall the moment she says it, and a long breath pushes past my lips.
I’m not the one who stole that bottle, but there’s no reason to tell her so, not that it matters anymore.
A moment later, she pats the slightly overgrown grass, so I drop beside her.
“If I get bit by a gang of red ants—”
“I’ll rub you down with ointment like I did last time,” she interrupts, the smile on her lips heard, but I glance over to catch it anyway.
That was a long time ago. She was maybe twelve, and Memphis was too grossed out by the welts that spread along my legs and torso to touch them, but Davis wasn’t, so she dropped to her knees as fast as I could get the ointment out of my bag. I remember how much her little hands shook that day. She was trying to be quick to soothe the sting, but it was more than that. She was terrified of the allergic reaction, kept asking if I could breathe and made me recap the entire morning to keep me talking. Her mom had introduced her to an old movie called My Girl that week, so Sweets was feelin’ extra uneasy.
But we’re not kids anymore, so if she dropped to her knees and started rubbing her hands all over me while looking up with sweet, scared eyes like that day…
Nope.
Does she really think I would fuck her for the fuck of it?
There’s no fucking way.
She’s lying straight, her head pointed at the cloudy sky, eyes closed, so I stare at her a moment. At the soft curve of her cheeks, a little narrower and more defined than before, and long, dark lashes that seem to have gotten longer, brushing against them.
No fucking way.
“I can feel you thinking. Watching me.” Her voice is soft, almost sad, and she takes a deep breath. “Just say it, Crew. It’s okay.”
Drawing one leg up, I stare at the slight shake of the tree’s limbs around us. “What is it you think I’m here to say?”
“That you can’t or won’t make me a woman,” she teases herself, but an annoyed huff follows. “You don’t have to bring morals and values into this, you know? It can be simple.”
“As simple as a business deal, right?”
She peeks at me from the corner of her glasses, and I pull her “offer” out of my pocket, holding it out between us. She nibbles at her lip.
“This is kind of fucked up.” I nod toward the folded paper. “You’re trying to back me into a corner.”
“I know,” she admits in a whisper. “But I only raised Thor’s hammer after you gave me the here goes delusional Davis look.”
“You had it ready, Davis. An essay and this. Why?”
“Because I know you,” she mutters. “And I knew you’d need something worth your while to… touch me.”
Damn. That’s—
Damn close to what I expected you to say.
Clearing my throat, I push to my feet and shove the paper toward her, but she scrambles to hers just as fast, cradling her head in her hand with a wince.
“Crew, wait. I didn’t mean, I don’t know what I meant.”
“Yeah, you do, Baby Franco.” Pulling the little orange and white packet from my pocket, I pass it to her. “Take these. They’ll help with the hangover. You’ll be good before lunch.”
I walk off, but Davis darts forward, jumping in front of me.
“I’m sorry.” She pushes the glasses up on her head, her features pinched with panic. “Crew, I’m sorry, okay?”
Holding in my sigh, I look into her bloodshot eyes.
Still can’t stand the thought of me being mad at you, Sweets?
Reaching out, I push her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and her frown deepens.
“If you think you’re worthless than or equal to a fucking car, then your virginity is the least of your problems.”
“You have no idea.” Her response is quick, quiet, and possibly unintentional.
Unexpected from my end, and for whatever reason, the irritation whirling in my gut twists.