Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I hope my friends are never out alone. They have the instincts of a dodo bird. Chill, easygoing, laid-back are never words I’d use to describe Kincaid’s dad. Don’t they see how he watches everything they do? He’s mentally calculating the risk they pose and stands ready to flatten them the second he has a whiff of danger to his family.
I don’t think I can come here again. He sees too much. Beckett’s a lot like her old man. When we first met, she ignored my frowns, my monosyllabic answers, and my general unfriendly demeanor. She told me once it was because she could tell it was all a front and that she’d wear that same cloak of indifference if she was shuttled around to five schools in six years. She’d said it so matter-of-fact, like my hate-the-world outlook was completely normal, so I couldn’t be mad.
Not that anyone could be mad at Beckett Moore for more than a second. She’s sunshine personified. Every room she’s in is brighter. Every song sounds better. Every piece of food tastes more delicious.
She caught me more effectively than a fisherman’s net captures a tuna.
At the top of the stairs, there are three doorways. I force my feet to go left into Kincaid’s room instead of to the right, which is Beck’s yellow and white garden bedroom. I’ve caught glimpses of it before—enough that my dreams have a very solid setting of a twin bed covered in yellow and white stripes, floral stickers on the wall, and a yellow rocking chair. I’ve done a lot of things to Beck on that rocking chair in my dreams. Things that probably aren’t legal. Things that aren’t physically possible. Things that her brother standing in front of me, rooting around for an extra pair of swim trunks, would likely kill me for if he had a clue.
“These should fit.” Kincaid tosses me a pair of shorts. “You can change in the bathroom or here.”
“Here’s good.” Kincaid and his sister share a bathroom. The last time I used it, I almost got caught sniffing her shampoo. It’s better I stay away from temptation. Besides, Kincaid and I are teammates. He’s seen my junk before, just like I’ve seen his.
He crosses over to his window that overlooks the backyard and stares down at our friends, giving me a bit of privacy. It takes only seconds to strip out of my jeans, socks, and underwear. My sneakers are at the front door in a pile with everyone else’s.
The borrowed swim trunks feel tight around my waist. I cross my arms around my chest, feeling awkward wearing the T-shirt to the pool but knowing that if I take it off, there’ll be more questions that I don’t want to answer. I should’ve never come, but those Moore kids are hard to turn down.
Kincaid’s still at the window, smiling at something. He’s a good friend and a good teammate. I like him—a lot. A sense of shame falls over me. I shouldn’t be wearing this dude’s swim trunks, eating food in his house, swimming in his pool when all I want to do is run down there, swing Beckett over my shoulder, and find a private place where I can defile her in a million different ways.
“Dude, I want to bone your sister,” I blurt out.
“I know.”
I nearly swallow my tongue. My jaw comes unhinged and it takes a moment before I can respond. “You know?”
Kincaid lazily turns around, as if I hadn’t confessed the worst sin. He snorts. “I’m not blind. Everyone knows.”
“When you say everyone…”
“Sarah, Mandy, Sam, Venny, Claud,” Kincaid rattles off more names than I know of and ends with, “Mom and Dad.”
My knees grow weak. “Your dad?” I bleat.
“My dad,” the asshole confirms with a smile.
“Then why am I here?” I fling an arm out. “Why haven’t you and your dad taken me to the garage and beaten me senseless with every power tool you have in there? Don’t you care about your sister at all? Christ, she needs protection! She’s out there alone. She—”
“Have you?” he cuts in.
“Have I what?” My chest is heaving and I’m starting to sweat like I’ve run a 5K.
“Have you boned her?”
“No!” I shout. “When have I had the opportunity to do that? I’ve got school and work at the quarry and ball. She’s never alone. I don’t want—I’ve never—I would die—” I stop, my thoughts all tumbling together and confused by Kincaid’s lack of anger, his gentle questioning. What’s going on here? Why am I still standing? Why don’t I have a fist in my face? Why hasn’t anyone thrown me out the front door and pointed a shotgun in my face, ordering me never to come back?
Kincaid’s expression of mild amusement hasn’t changed. “If you don’t want to ruin our friendship, never want to hurt her, would die before you’d allow any harm come her way, why would I beat your ass? If I pummeled every guy who wanted to sleep with my sister, I’d be in fights every day, which I guess wouldn’t be terrible, but my mom would kill me, so I can’t go that route. Besides, Becks isn’t my property. I don’t own her. I can’t tell her what she should do. Do you respect my sister?”