Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Where were you when I went out yesterday?” My voice snaps, irritated with the way she’s standing here with her arms crossed, glaring at me with a ‘how dare you wake me up’ look.
“Um…” she waves her hand around, her eyes squinted, “here. I was here—you know that.”
“Really? Layla’s father just came over saying you and his daughter were out drinking yesterday.” Her eyes barely widen as she masks her shock and tries to act cool.
“That’s why you were in bed when I got home last night!” I came home from being out with Heston and started making dinner for her, but she said she wasn’t feeling well and stayed in bed. I had no idea she was drunk.
“I mean, I did drink a little with the neighbor, but come on, Mom, I was in our backyard. I was safe. What’s the big deal?” She raises both her hands in the air as if I’m being dramatic over nothing.
“The big deal? Our neighbor thinks you’re a bad influence and the whole block heard him say it.”
Licking her dry lips, she nods, glancing down. “Well, I can tell you I have a long way to go to catch up to Layla’s reputation.”
I don’t even know what that means, and I don’t want to.
“That’s enough. Give me your phone.” Holding my palm up, I wait for her to hand it over.
“Mom, you can’t be serious!” Her eyebrows slip inward, her bottom lip pouting.
“I’m dead serious!” I raise a brow, seconds away from grounding her.
“This is so unfair!” She groans, on the verge of a temper tantrum. She reaches into her sports bra, pulling her phone out, and slaps it into my palm before stomping up the stairs.
“No more drinking—and I mean it!”
She doesn’t answer, but the slam of her door tells me I got my point across. I’m glad she was at home, but drinking with another kid, one I haven’t even met, is not okay. Opening the fridge, I lower my head to see if the bottle of wine Owen and Flynn gave me is gone.
And it is.
The little shits.
Slamming the fridge shut, I glance at her cellphone in my palm. She’s never acted like this before. I don’t even know if taking her phone away is punishment enough. I’m sure her father will have something to say about it, though. I was on a date for a few couple hours with another man. We might be divorced, but he’s still a jealous man.
9
Biting my chewed up thumbnail, I look over the room that’s going to be my studio. I need to unpack and give things a place—especially my pottery wheel. I might actually even be able to have space for a kiln, instead of trying to do it in my oven. I drop my hand from my mouth, feeling bad about using any more money from my mother’s inheritance. This place was expensive, and I should put some away for Paige’s education.
The doorbell goes off. I head down the stairs and open it, finding Owen and Flynn.
“Hey, we heard Earl earlier. You okay?” Sympathy fills Owen’s voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Nodding, I step to the left, letting them in. Both of them are dressed to impress: Owen’s tucked in shirt, Flynn’s dark green polo and jeans make me remember I’m still in what I slept in.
“Girl, he has no room to talk about anyone’s daughter.” Owen turns, his hand on his hip.
“My daughter mentioned she might be a little…mischievous,” I state.
“That’s putting it lightly. That brat broke into our house last year and took our drinking glasses. Her dad made her bring them back and apologize, but she was only sorry for getting caught.” He shrugs, folding his arms in front of his broad chest.
“Remember when she left Tenly’s house that one night?” Owen makes a face that shows a lot his teeth, as if bringing it up almost hurts.
“Yeah, nobody has said anything about that one. She must have gotten away with it,” Flynn adds.
“Wait, are you saying she messed around with Tenly’s husband?” Maybe she just broke into their house too, and Flynn and Owen are just assuming the worst.
“Yeah, Tenly was at some yoga retreat and Layla came running across the street barefoot. Why else would she be over there in the wee morning hours?” Owen says, and my mouth drops. It does sound conspicuous. Holy shit. I really don’t want Paige hanging out with her.
“The Gradys have ornery twins and a son that’s older, but he’s not near as much trouble as Layla.”
“Wow,” I mutter, untying the apron I was using while messing around in my studio.
“What is this little getup?” Owen asks, running his finger in the air, referring to my apron.
“Oh, I was going to set up my pottery station.”
“Wait, we have an artist for a neighbor?” Owen bats his eyes, glancing at Flynn before drawing his eyes back to me. Tucking his hand under his jaw, his pinky rubbing his chin, Flynn steps next to him, smirking at me.