Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“And what about Rodney?” I asked. “Are you sure you trust him after everything that happened?”
She shrugged. “He says he loves me, told me he’d marry me once everything was settled with his ex, but—” She sighed deeply. “You know I haven’t been happy here for a long time, Charlie. I’m sick of fighting with Mom about every part of my life. It’s too damn expensive for me to move out. Everything is gray and dirty. You can only see little bits of the sky above the buildings. Even if things don’t work out with Rodney, this is my chance to get out.” She met my gaze. “Tell me you understand.”
I got all of that, I did. Rachel was twenty-one years old and she had to live her own life in whatever way she wanted. I loved my sister and I didn’t want to lose her, but if moving to Nevada was what she wanted to do, I wouldn’t try to guilt her into staying. I blinked away tears and tried to think of something supportive to say. “I’ll miss you,” was all I could get out.
Rachel threw her arms around me and buried her face in my neck. “I’ll call you all the time, and maybe you can come visit in the winter. We’ll wear shorts and jog outside.”
“Okay,” I said and then sniffled as I returned her hug, squeezing her tightly.
After a few minutes, she sat up, cleared her throat, and wiped her palms over her eyes. “Now I’m all puffy and red.”
“Just a little.” I smiled faintly. “But you’re still the prettiest girl around.”
We looked at each other for another few seconds, and then she took a deep breath, got up, and walked out of my room.
I’m not going to say that my sister walked out of my life that night, but I will tell you that phone calls and rare visits aren’t the same as living together under one roof. Rachel never moved back to New York, and to this day, I haven’t stopped missing her.
“CHARLIE! Scott’s here and I’m leaving for work,” my mom called out.
I walked out into the front room and found myself smiling just at the sight of my boyfriend. He always did that to me. Scott caught my gaze and beamed. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” I answered. My mom was digging through her purse. “When are you getting home?” I asked her.
She located her keys and then put her purse and another bag over her shoulder and reached for the doorknob. “I have a twelve tonight and then I’m doing home care so I won’t be back until late tomorrow.”
I walked over and kissed her cheek. “You look tired, Mom.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Lock up after me, okay?”
“Sure.”
She left and I closed the door with a sigh.
“Your mom does look beat,” Scott whispered into my ear. He had walked up right behind me and pressed his chest to my back. He was big and warm and strong and hard. Always hard.
I ground back against him. “Yeah,” I said. “She works so much. I don’t make enough at the dance studio to pay for more than just my own clothes and food and stuff.”
Scott kissed the back of my neck. “Someday you will. You’re really talented, baby. Someday you’ll be dancing on Broadway. You’ll see. People are going to pay tons of money to watch you.”
“I hope so.”
He rubbed circles on my stomach and kissed his way from my earlobe, across my jaw, to my chin. I leaned back and he supported my weight easily. It felt good—his touch, the sound of his breath, the feeling of his heart beating against me—and I let myself relax. Like they so often did, those gentle caresses got lower and lower until Scott was rubbing his palm against my groin and cupping my balls.
I was hard because, well, I was eighteen and my boyfriend was in the room so, yeah, instant erection, and I thought I knew where things were going, but then he surprised me and said, “You wanna watch a show or play Mario or something?”
I glanced back at him over my shoulder and furrowed my brow in confusion.
Scott raised one corner of his mouth. “I promise to ravage you later, but I think maybe you need to unwind a little first. You’ve been working a lot too and studying for finals.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You sound like your mother,” he pointed out.
“Mario sounds good.”
Scott chuckled. “See that? I’m a master persuader.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
We had just settled in for the game—me lying on the floor in front of the TV, Scott sprawled on the couch with the controller in his hand—when there was a loud, fast knock on the door.
“Scott!” his mom shouted.
He jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, opening the three locks in fast succession before swinging it open. “Is everything okay?” he asked.