Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Sweetheart?”
“Mom?”
Chrissy Hayes was sitting in a back corner, and she stepped out from the shadows. Her hair was a mess. Ends were sticking up everywhere. Her eyes were glazed, the pupils dilated. Rings of worry fell underneath them, matching the wrinkles around her mouth.
My mother was a good-looking woman. I knew this. I’d suffered the consequences growing up, as teachers or mailmen or even restaurant owners tried to butter me up to get to her. She was a petite woman, with a usually gorgeous blond mane of hair, and they always fell for her blue eyes. It wasn’t just her looks, though.
She had a personality where she was tough as nails at times but flighty and ditzy at others. She was fun, too. Chrissy Hayes enjoyed a good bargain, a good time, and a good adventure. She was clear on that motto in life, but this version of my mom wasn’t one I’d met many times.
She was wrecked. Totally and completely. Destroyed.
My heart twisted. Pain sliced through that numb wall.
I was almost the total opposite, with honey-brown eyes and jet-black hair. My hair was so dark that it had a slight tint of blue to it at times. Sometimes it was there, sometimes not. I got asked by stylists what color I used for it, but it was all natural. I used to hate it, but like the weirdness of my brain, it had grown on me.
We had the same build.
We were both petite, though the couple extra inches I had made me feel like I towered over her.
“Oh, honey.” She rushed to me, her flannel shirt enveloping me as she pressed my head to her neck. Her hand smoothed my hair down and back and then swept up to repeat. She shuddered, holding me. “I was so worried.” Her head buried into my shoulder, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead. Pulling back, she tucked my hair strands behind my ears, framing my face. Her eyes raked over me and she shook her head, biting her lip. “I am so sorry this happened to you.”
My hands came up to rest on her arms.
I noticed her jeans, tight, with sparkles intermixed so there was a light glitter dusting over them. They were her date jeans, and that flannel shirt. It was unbuttoned, with a white shirt underneath. I said flatly, “I thought you worked last night.” No. It was the same night. I corrected, “I mean tonight. Earlier.” Christ. What time was it? “You were on a date.”
She grimaced, still biting down on her bottom lip. “Yes, but is that really important now? You were almost kidnapped, sweetie.”
Detective Bright cleared her throat, stepping closer to the table. “You two can have a talk later. There’s quite a bit we need to discuss first.”
I took one of the seats closest to the wall. “You don’t usually lie about dates.” But there was one guy she would lie about. “Was it Chad Haskell?” I did not like Chad Haskell. No one should like Chad Haskell. “He beat up Simone Ainsley’s mom. Remember?”
Chrissy flicked her eyes to the ceiling and waved at me. “Oh, come on. You were friends with that girl for four months your sophomore year in high school. She was a liar. You got mad because she was only using you to get a date with that Bobby guy from your debate team.”
“Mom. Seriously.” My blood was boiling. “And it wasn’t debate team. It was the computer club, and…” I saw the look on Detective Bright’s face. “And she didn’t use me to get a date with Bobby Riggs—she used me to get an in with his brother, who I was tutoring because, unlike Bobby, Brian Riggs wasn’t the smartest guy on the football team.”
Chrissy was fighting back a smile. “And you had a crush on Brian Riggs, didn’t you?”
I jerked back in my chair. “I’m just telling you that while I was friends with Simone, she told me her mom got beat up by Chad Haskell. Don’t date him, Mom. Trust me.” I gestured to my head. “Out of our two minds, mine doesn’t forget things.” Ever.
She softened. “I know, honey.”
I heard the but coming …
“But,” she said, “he owns the bowling alley. You could bowl there for free every weekend.” She was off. We were embarking in Chrissy Hayes’s fantasyland. Sometimes I was allowed to visit. “You could bring all your friends every Friday night—or hey! You could help rewrite his computer system. I bet he’d take you on as his personal IT department.”
This was what we were talking about? Here?
My mom was dating Chad Haskell so I could have free bowling Friday nights?
I rubbed at my forehead. A headache was coming. Chad Haskell’s influence had invaded Chrissy Hayes. Chrady. That’s the name for both of them.
She should just go by Chrady now.