Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
She nods enthusiastically, visibly blissed out. “Open your heart to Jesus and you’ll see. You’ll receive His blessings, too.”
I shake my head in disgust, walking over and grabbing the Solo cup out of Grace’s hand. I peek at the red liquid inside, sniff it, but of course I can’t tell if he did anything to it.
Placing a hand on Grace’s shoulder, I tell her, “Come on, honey, up off the bed. Don’t go into bedrooms with boys at parties, okay? Can we just make that a general rule?”
“Justice and I used to sneak off at parties all the time.”
Since that was her boyfriend, I cock an eyebrow. “Oh. Okay, well… don’t sneak off with boys who are not your boyfriend, and never Carter, Jake, or Shayne. Never ever. Even if they tell you there’s a fire, and the only way to safety is into a room alone with them.”
Grace widens her eyes at me. “Zoey, he’s sitting right here.”
“He knows my opinion of him,” I answer, yanking on her arm. “Off the bed. Come on. How much of this punch did you have?”
“I’m not sure. It’s not alcoholic though!”
I glare at Carter. He smirks. I am not amused. “How much of this did she drink?” I demand.
“I wasn’t keeping track,” he tells me.
“Great. That’s just great. You’re unbelievable.”
Leaning back on his elbows on the bed and eyeing me up like his next meal, he says, “Relax, Ellis. All that worrying’s gonna give you an ulcer.”
“I can’t relax,” I snap. “She’s not supposed to have a lot of sugary drinks, and you’ve been dumping fruit punch down her throat. She’s too drunk to keep track herself—this is all your fault.”
“It’s punch,” he states, like I’m being ridiculous.
“She’s diabetic!”
Now he sits up, a little less chill. “Oh. Shit, well, I didn’t know that.”
I shake my head, dragging Grace toward the door. “Of course you didn’t. Not like you would have cared even if you did though, right? As long as you got your way, who cares who gets hurt along the way? That’s the Carter Mahoney mission statement, isn’t it?”
Grace chides me. “You’re bein’ so mean, Zoey.”
“I don’t really want to hear it from you, Grace. I told you it wasn’t safe to come to this party and you ignored me, and now we’re both in a bad situation. Do you have your insulin? Do you need your insulin? Or a snack? I don’t know how alcohol plays into this. You need to drink some water. You didn’t have iced coffee today, did you?”
“I hate insulin,” she mutters. “I want to be normal.”
“You are normal,” I murmur, leading her out into the hall and toward the stairs.
Before I make it to the landing, Carter grabs me from behind, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Haven’t you done enough? Get your hands off me,” I snap.
Jake is right at the bottom of the stairs, like he was waiting for me. He glances up now and takes the first couple of steps. “Everything okay up here?”
Carter’s grip on me tightens even as I try to wiggle out of his grip. He looks down the stairs at Jake. “Yeah, come get Grace. She needs water. Take her to the kitchen and get her a bottle.”
Glaring back at Carter, I tell him, “Let go of me. I am going to get her a bottle of water, and then I am taking her home.”
He couldn’t be more dismissive. “After all I had to do to get you here? No, you’re not.” Meeting Jake’s gaze as he reluctantly takes Grace’s arm to guide her down the stairs, Carter tells him, “Don’t get handsy, Parsons. Remember what happened last time. And keep a close eye on her. I didn’t know, but she’s diabetic. Don’t let her have any more punch. If she starts acting weird, text me.”
“I am not leaving Grace with him, and I’m not goin’ anywhere with you. I have to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s okay.”
“Parsons is gonna do it,” he tells me. “That’s his job now.”
“Carter, dammit,” I object as he locks his arm around me and drags me back down the hall. “Let me go. Let me take care of my friend!”
“You’re going to take care of me instead,” he informs me.
Fury explodes in my veins. “No, I am not. Help! Somebody—”
His hand covers my mouth immediately. He sounds annoyed when he says, “That’s a waste of fucking time, Ellis. Did anyone help you last time? People don’t help. Try to keep up.”
“I hate you,” I cry out against his hand.
“Stop being so dramatic,” he tells me, dragging me back inside the bedroom and closing the door. This time, he turns the lock. I struggle to get away from him, but he’s too strong, his hold on me too tight. I thrash some more, but he holds me tightly against his body and drags me back toward the bed.