Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
That dislike had been mutual too. No doubt about it. So why the hell had Hunter just bid an exorbitant amount of money to win a date with his mortal enemy?
“Congratulations, Junior!” My cousin Ollie stepped into my path with a beaming smile. “The whole family’s real proud of you for scoring such a huge donation.”
“And don’t worry at all about what Hunter’s gonna make you do on your date,” his wife, Kendra, added with total sincerity. “I mean, sure, he’s probably got fifteen years of built-up anger about the Incident, and he’s probably gonna take it out through your blood, sweat, and tears by forcing you to do the worst kind of manual labor he can think up, but… I mean… think of how many dogs’ll be spayed and neutered thanks to you!”
“Lovely,” I muttered as understanding dawned and, with it, no small amount of anger. “That’s just… lovely. Will you excuse me?”
Without waiting for their reply, I wound my way through the crowd, ignoring their whispered comments, and pushed open the doors to the front of the community center.
The late-autumn night was cold, especially after the warmth of the crowded space. Golden fairy lights, which had been festooned around the pumpkin-and-hay-bale-strewn entryway, swayed drunkenly in the chilly breeze, haphazardly sending beams of light into the darkness of the parking area like the flashes of a lighthouse. And it was in one of these flashes that I saw my overgrown, coward-ass former friend striding toward his truck on the far side of the lot.
“Stop!” I cried, jogging toward him. “You can’t just fuck off without explaining yourself, Hunter. What the hell was that about?”
Hunter paused, squared his shoulders, but didn’t turn around. “Shut up, Junior.”
“Make me,” I retorted like we were still eleven. Embarrassed heat washed over me. “Or better still, tell me why you just bid a shit-ton of money for a date with—”
“Not a date.” Hunter whirled around. Up close, the dancing lights revealed a handsome, bearded face that was all firm planes and hard angles where it had once been round with youth, along with a heavily muscled frame beneath his fitted sweater that was easily twice as muscular as it had been last time I’d seen him.
Devastating, I thought helplessly.
Then, Hunter went on. “You are the last person I’d want to date.”
I forced myself to stop imagining what his pecs looked like beneath the sweater and told myself that since I hadn’t been an eighth grader for a decade and a half, Hunter’s pronouncement could not possibly sting as much as it felt like it did.
“Well, good! Because I wouldn’t want to date you either.” I lifted my chin. “In fact, I… I’d want it even less than you!”
“Good.”
“Great!”
“Excellent.”
“So why’d you bid on me, then?” I demanded. “Is this some kind of revenge ploy? Because it’s a really expensive one, especially since you’re leaving without even making arrangements for whatever shit job you plan to have me do.”
I kept telling myself to shut up—I didn’t actually want him to make arrangements. I had no burning desire to do physical labor or to spend time with someone who clearly hated my guts—but something in me wanted to provoke him.
“Or did you do that thing you used to do when we were kids, where you got so flustered, your mouth started saying shit before your brain caught up?” I asked snidely. “Temper, temper, Hunter Jackson.”
Hunter made a choking noise, and his pale cheeks flushed dark above his beard. “I said shut up! For fuck’s sake, what are you even doing here? I thought Licking Thicket was horse shit on your boot heel. The big, wide world was gonna treat you so much better. And you clearly don’t give a crap about anyone you left behind. You didn’t even come back for Amos’s wedding! So why the hell were you up on that auction stage tonight?”
“I think it’s pretty standard for people to visit their loved ones at Thanksgiving.” I folded my arms over my chest and tried to act casual, as though his accusations—especially the bit about Uncle Amos—hadn’t scored a direct hit, the embers of anger in my gut hadn’t flared to brilliant flames, and I wasn’t strangely (annoyingly) aroused by his proximity after all these years.
“Love,” he sneered. “Right.”
That made me well and truly angry. “Don’t you dare presume to know how I feel about my family,” I said in a hard voice. “You don’t know shit about me.”
Hunter seemed to deflate at this, whether because he regretted his words or for some other reason I couldn’t fathom. “That’s the damn truth. Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. Meet me at the main barn next to my dad’s house. We’re gonna be refinishing floors.” He looked me up and down, inspecting my well-tailored slacks and button-down like I was a cheap cut of beef. His lip curled. “You might want to wear something a little less precious. Something fit to work in… assuming you remember what hard work looks like.”