Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
My mom works hard at her job. She’s the customer service manager for a large home builder. Then, after working all day, she comes home to take care of my dad, who’s usually too drunk to care for himself. And somehow she still finds the time to make sure I’m doing what I should be doing.
“Trust me, she’d find a way to punish me.” I shake my head and Melissa shrugs, taking another hit. I’m looking out at the field, trying to locate Richie, when Melissa grabs the sides of my face and fuses our mouths together. Smoke quickly fills my lungs before I can pull back.
“Seriously?” I choke out when she backs up.
“Hell yeah!” a bunch of guys shout, having seen us kiss.
Melissa cackles. “Gotcha!”
“That’s not funny.” I glare at her.
“Oh, Harper, lighten up.” She takes another hit before trying to pass it to Angela, who shakes her head.
“You’re not the one trying to get her car and life back,” I point out.
“She’s not going to even know. Chill out,” Melissa says, passing the joint to her brother.
Melissa’s totaled two cars already that she and her brother share, and her dad’s already promised her he’d get them another one soon. She doesn’t understand that just because her parents don’t pay attention, doesn’t mean other parents don’t.
Not wanting to argue with her, I hop onto the back of the Mustang’s trunk and pull my cell phone out of my pocket. As I scroll through my social media, while somewhat watching the game going on, I come across dozens of posts of Melissa kissing me. Jesus, that literally happened like five minutes ago. You can’t do anything anymore without it being captured and put online for everybody to see.
Since I have my mom on social media—it was that, or not have one at all, according to my mom—I deny all the tags, so she doesn’t see anything.
When I get bored of scrolling through the same stuff, I put my phone away and watch the baseball game. Landon’s pitching and Richie is up to bat. Landon taunts Richie, then throws the ball. Richie swings and misses.
“I’m pretty sure your girlfriend hits better than you,” Landon yells through a laugh that has me smiling.
Richie flicks him off and yells back, “Just throw the damn ball!”
Landon throws it and Richie misses again. “How are we supposed to have a shot at winning this season if you can’t even score? Need me to show you how it’s done?”
“Fuck off, bro.” Richie drops the bat, and the teams switch positions.
I’m watching Richie run toward the outfield with his glove in his hand, when two strong hands grip my waist and pull me off the vehicle. Landon. I scream out in surprise, which has him laughing.
“Only the girl I’m fucking gets to sit on the back of my ’stang,” he whispers into my ear as he sets me on the ground. “And I’m definitely not fucking you.” He smirks and steps back.
“And you never will.” I hit him with a hard glare, refusing to acknowledge how strong his hands felt holding on to me, or how easily he picked me up like I weigh nothing. I also refuse to acknowledge the way my flesh dotted with goose bumps when he spoke so closely to me, I could smell the cool mint on his breath.
“We’ll see.” Landon’s eyes run up and down my body for a second before he pops the trunk and reaches in to grab something. “Forgot my bat.”
“You already used someone else’s,” I point out. I’ve seen him bat at least once already.
He doesn’t deny it.
“Hey, Harp,” Melissa calls out. “Don’t you have to leave? It’s almost six.” She laughs, holding up her phone to show me the time. And sure enough, it’s already 5:50, which means I have exactly ten minutes to get home.
“Shit!” I run over to the side of the field. “Richie!” When he looks over at me, I yell, “I gotta go!” Not having my own car seriously sucks. I’m definitely going to think twice before letting Melissa talk me into sneaking out again.
Richie comes running over. “We’re not done with our game yet.”
“Well, if I’m not home in”—I glance at my cell phone—“nine minutes, I’m screwed.”
Richie groans. “Can’t you ask one of your friends to give you ride?”
“You already know Melissa doesn’t have a car, and Angela doesn’t even have her license.”
“So ask one of the guys,” he suggests.
“Seriously?” I shout, loud enough that everyone around us can hear. “The other guys aren’t my boyfriend! You are.” What kind of boyfriend actually suggests for his girlfriend to get a ride by another guy instead of taking her home himself? A selfish one, that’s who.
“Because it’s my fault you got grounded?” Richie argues.
“Never mind.” I throw my hands in the air and walk away. I don’t have the time to argue with him, and even if I did, I don’t want to. It’s a waste of my energy. “I don’t even know why I’m with you!” I yell over my shoulder.