Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 129268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“When’d you get them?”
“Got ‘em on sale last week. Should’ve stayed with me at the mall rather than taking off.” I click my tongue at her and smile. She left me hanging when she went to go run an errand for our boss. His lazy ass does that kind of thing constantly. We basically run the bookstore ourselves.
She pouts and asks, “Did they have any more?”
I purse my lips and shake my head. These were the only pair on the clearance rack. If Lizzie and I wore the same size in jeans, I’d share them. But we don’t. So she’s shit out of luck. “Sorry, babe.”
“Damn.”
“We’ll have to keep a lookout for more.” I nod my head.
“We should look online too.”
Her eyes shine brightly at the suggestion. “Hell yeah, payday is Friday,” she replies in a singsong voice, swaying her head as she does. It makes the dangling earrings she’s wearing chime softly. They’re rose gold with moonstones. I gave them to her on her eighteenth birthday. Lizzie’s allergic to silver, so I made sure to get pure rose gold. They cost a little more, but it was worth every penny to see the look on her face when she opened the gift box. She owns a lot of earrings, but she always seems to wear that specific pair.
The smile grows on my face until I realize I need to ask her the inevitable and it vanishes completely at the thought. “Are you almost ready?” She looks like she is but knowing her, she could spend another hour doing her makeup. I bet she could spend all day in here if I didn’t remind her of the time. Her makeup looks perfect already to me, though, with her flawless cat-eye look and pink lipstick to match her dress. “And do you have a jacket?” I add comically, as if I’m her mother.
“Yeah and yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes with the smile staying in place, “but we still have time to kill, right?”
I check my phone, which is sitting on the bathroom counter. Our small-town college, Shadow Falls, is only ten minutes away and we have forty minutes before we absolutely need to take off.
Nerves tingle down my arm and my throat tightens. There’s not a trace of either when I answer her. “A little bit, yeah.” I can guess exactly what it is that she wants. “Coffee run?”
“Yes!” she exclaims to the ceiling with dramatic flair. She’s got a serious caffeine addiction. Shaking my head, I smile back at her and grab my phone. I could go for a chocolate chip cookie while we’re there anyway. Something to calm my stomach.
“Let’s go … like now … so we’re not late then.” I browse through our joint closet, which is crammed full of clothing, for only a split second before picking out my favorite clutch. Taking a moment to admire the pastel plaid print and soft tan leather, I drop in my phone, wallet, and cherry red lip gloss.
“You wearing the pink stilettos?” she asks as if she doesn’t already know the answer.
With another smack of my lips, I tell her, “Duh.” I wear them almost every day. They’re neutral enough that they complement most of my wardrobe but they have a little more pep than nude heels. The dark red soles give them an extra bit of sex appeal, which I love. The additional two inches they grant me doesn’t hurt either. It makes me feel like today isn’t anything but ordinary and I’m going to kick ass … just like every other day.
Nothing at all to worry about.
“Unless you need them?” I say, offering them up.
“Nope, it would be too much pink.” We’re both a size six so at least we can share shoes, even if we can’t share clothes. Lizzie has heels in nearly every style and color. She’s a girl who likes variety. It’s the one thing she really spends money on.
“I swear you never wear any of the others,” she says teasingly.
“I like these,” I say with a shrug, picking up my pale pink beauties. They make me feel in control and sexy. Why wouldn’t I wear them every chance I get?
People say you can grow to hate your best friend when you live together but I can’t see that ever happening to us. She’s the yin to my yang, the peanut butter to my jelly. More than that, we were both grateful to get out of the shitholes where we grew up. The cherry on top is that we truly love and respect one another.
Always have. Always will.
I first met Lizzie in middle school, only a year after my mom had passed. We were both quiet loners and didn’t really bond at first—not with each other, and definitely not with anyone else.
Summertime was when we actually started talking to each other. I approached her first, although I was deathly afraid of being rejected. It was worth the risk because I was more than tired of being so lonely. We were the only girls wearing long sleeves and jeans in the hot weather. That wasn’t my first clue, but it was what I needed to sit by her at lunch. I finally gathered the courage to ask her about it, knowing I would be exposing my truth too. Her bruises were from her third set of foster parents and mine were from my father, who was always drugged up, drunk, or just plain angry.