Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 128097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Yes.” I lick my dried-out lips and watch a stray droplet shake off his messy, spiky hair and travel down the left side of his chest. Exactly where his heart lies. “I’ll tell them that you’re involved in something illegal. They’ll throw you in jail and –”
“Tell me where we live,” he murmurs, cutting me off.
“What?”
“Tell me the name of the town we live in, Blue.”
We both come to a stop.
“P-Princetown.”
Zach smiles coldly. “Yeah. The Princes own this town. The cops won’t touch any of us. Not even me. Even if I’m a bad one, I’m still a Prince.”
He’s right.
The name of our town is Princetown. The town with the heat of hell, with holes in the ground, with lines, with the north side and the south side, with The Pleiades.
The place filled with bullies.
The birthplace of me and Zach.
I sigh and resume walking back. “Well, then, I’ll fuck up your bike.”
He resumes chasing me, as well. “You’ll fuck up my bike.”
“Yup. I’ll cut off the brake thingy and scratch it with my hairpin. Actually, my keys. I think that’ll be more effective. And, uh, I’ll mess with the throttle or something.”
There’s a hint of a twitch on Zach’s mouth and I get hit by the fact again that he’s the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen.
Like, ever.
“Do you know anything about bikes?”
“No. But I can learn. YouTube has everything. That’s where I learned how to pick a lock.”
That twitch graduates into a lopsided smile. “Stage-five clinger.”
“Call it whatever you want. You’re not going there. Ever.”
“Then how do you suggest I make money?”
That makes me stumble a little. Did he just say money?
“What?”
“Money, Blue. How do you suggest I make it if I don’t do my job? Ever.”
“This is your job?”
He shrugs. “Last night wasn’t. But yeah, they pay me for this. So this is my job. You know, the thing responsible people do.”
I swallow roughly at the reminder of what I said to him on his first night back.
For some reason, it never occurred to me. I’ve always seen him as this rich, bored guy who got everything handed to him.
But no. He’s far from it.
“Was this your job in like, New York?”
“Yeah.”
“But this is dangerous.”
“I’m good at it.”
There’s no doubt about that. But even so, I’m scared for him. “How did you even learn to do that?”
“People taught me.” When I frown at his vague answer, he elaborates, “There was this guy on the staff a few years ago. I got started on his bike. He taught me. He’d take me to the hole sometimes. He quit and went to New York. He hooked me up with people when I showed up at his door out of the blue.”
In this moment, Zach seems so worldly to me. So experienced and daring and brave.
“I’m scared for you,” I whisper when I have nothing else to say to him.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he replies with a blank look.
But I am worried.
“Is that all?” he asks, curtly.
We’ve been dancing around each other for quite some time now and when my back hits the wall, I know it’s over. This dance.
I need to come out with the other, the bigger reason for my visit.
Plastering my spine on the wall, I tilt up my neck. “And I want you to come to my cottage. Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Tina won’t be home; she’s working the night shift and I’m not babysitting Art. So I’ll be free.”
“Free to do what?”
He’s too close and his eyes are too scorching. Blazing. I want to look away but I can’t rip our gazes apart. I can’t be a coward and leave him alone when I ask this question. “Where’s your book? The one you had. About the stars.”
The tendons on his neck move in agitation. “I threw it away.”
“Why?”
“Not into reading.”
“Well, that’s still not a reason to throw away a perfectly good book.”
“It is for me.”
I lick my lips and his eyes follow the gesture. “Well, tomorrow. At my cottage. We’re going to read.”
He frowns. “Excuse me?”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this deadly and this angry before. And I’ve seen him angry plenty of times.
“Yes. Because, Zach, you promised a little boy that you’ll read him a story. And I swear to God, you’re going to read him one.”
He leans down, his palms on the wall, caging me in. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I inject every scrap of courage in my tone. “Dyslexia is a learning disability. Meaning, it makes it difficult to read. Not impossible. Lots of people have it. And I realize that it’s not convenient and I’ll never be able to fully grasp the difficulties associated with it, but damn it, Zach. You’re going to read. You should’ve been reading all along. I can’t believe your parents never made the effort. It’s just so ancient and archaic that I can’t even –”