Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
“What are you doing?” she texted back, clinging to hope that maybe she could talk me into rearranging my plans so she wouldn’t have to cancel hers.
I didn’t bother answering her.
Now, I rush to gather my things to transfer over to my old purse. The strap broke on the one I’ve been using just as I was about to walk out the door, and I don’t know how much time I have. Not time before I’m supposed to meet Jet at his house, but time before my mom will get home from work.
There’s a knock at the door as I shove my cherry ChapStick into the inside pocket and zip it up.
No, that’s not right. It’s too lazy to be a knock. It’s a knock that gave up before knuckles even connected with wood.
I don’t know why Mom would knock unless she forgot her keys, but I would think she would’ve noticed that when she got to her car earlier. If she wanted to go anywhere, she would have had to come back in for them.
I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder, then head to the front door to peek out the peephole.
A man is standing on the other side. A white T-shirt is stretched taut across his hairy beer gut. His whiskered double chin seems even bigger somehow through the peephole, and God help him, he thinks he can pull off a mustache.
My lip curls with disgust as I debate whether or not to let Mom’s new boyfriend in.
He isn’t looking at the door even though he almost knocked on it. His head is turned like he’s waiting for someone.
A few seconds later, I see my mom’s washed-out dye job and hair that desperately needs trimming. She’s thin, unlike him, but a ragged kind of thin, not a glamorous, aspirational kind of thin.
I back up just as she opens the door.
She halts with her keys still in her hand and stares at me in surprise. “You’re home.”
“Just about to leave,” I tell her.
“Why didn’t you open the damn door? Larry knocked.”
Larry follows her in, his gaze raking over me. Not in the sexy, scorching way that Milo’s did, but in a greasy way that leaves me feeling the need for a hot shower.
I’m dressed casually and comfortably in layers. A thin black shirt underneath in case I get hot, but it shows a few inches of my stomach and Larry’s gross gaze gets stuck there. Self-consciously, I shift so that my oversized, taupe cable knit sweater will drift over and cover a bit of skin.
I’m wearing a coat unzipped over my outfit, but it doesn’t feel like enough coverage. I’m not sure there’s enough coverage in the world, and I wonder how my mom can bear being touched by him.
What a downgrade.
Shuddering, I lean to the side and push past my mom, muttering, “I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late.”
She doesn’t ask where I’m going. She doesn’t care.
___
Everything is different when the door to the Granville house opens.
Jet answers, and he’s excited to see me. I’m sure it’s only because my presence enables him to advance his pursuit of Brylee White, but that doesn’t matter.
The next thing I notice as I cross the threshold into the cozy, warm home is that it smells incredible.
“I hope you didn’t eat,” Jet says.
I didn’t. We had basically nothing in the house and Jet told me we would have popcorn while we watched the movie, so I figured I would fill up on that.
I sniff the air and follow Jet into the kitchen, where Milo is grabbing a plate of skewered meat and moving it to the island. He meets my gaze as I enter the room, but doesn’t say a word.
He turns back to grab three smaller plates out of the cabinet. As he sets them down beside the skewers, he says, “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am.” I leave Jet’s side and walk over to look at the delicious smelling meat.
“Appetizers,” Milo explains before grabbing two heaping bowls of popcorn and carrying them to the living room. “Help yourself to the meat,” he calls back.
I glance over at Jet, who grabs a plate for himself and one for me. “Thanks,” I murmur.
He nods. “Since we’re watching a movie, we’ll eat these on the couch.”
I grab a skewer and inspect it. “What are we watching?”
“Daddy’s Home. It’s this Mark Wahlberg movie we usually watch around Christmas time. Jonathan will probably be pissed we’re watching it without him,” he says, smiling faintly.
“We don’t have to tell him,” I say conspiratorially before biting off the top piece of meat on my skewer to see how it tastes.
Instantly, my taste buds transform into tiny whores, sinking to their knees and begging for more please.
“Oh my god,” I say, covering my mouth as I’m still chewing.