Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Either way, I’ll never forget.”
It’s getting dark, so we throw our trash out and make our way back toward the car. Lawson is quiet and pensive, obviously still reeling from the revelation.
“Sorry for dropping all that on you,” I say sheepishly. “I kind of killed the fun.”
“No, what?” He flinches. “God, no. I’m just over here contemplating what filthy, depraved debauchery I’ll have to concoct on our next adventure to top this.”
I lift a brow. “Next time?”
“I could arrange an elaborate art heist if that’s more to your liking. In either case, there are options and costumes are encouraged.”
“That sounds suspiciously like asking me out on a second date.”
“A date?” He gives an innocent look. “I’m only proposing a tentative agreement for future friendly mischief.”
“That does have a nice ring to it,” I say shyly.
Despite the inevitable backlash that will come from me cavorting around with someone as prolifically notorious as Lawson, I had such a good time today. That’s worth more to me than sanitizing myself against gossip at this point.
“Hey.” I stop him a second when we get back to the Porsche. “I know you probably thought I was crazy the way I basically assaulted you back at school. And, um, sorry about that. But you could have blown me off or been a dick about, and yet you weren’t. And I had a good time. So…yeah. Thank you.”
I expect a clever if slightly crude retort. Instead, he leans against the car and crosses his arms.
“Of all the people I know, Casey Tresscott, you’re the last one I’d want to be a dick to.”
“Cool,” I say, biting back a smile. Because that might be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. Which is sort of sad if I want to dwell on it. So I don’t. “But if anyone asks, I had no idea the car was stolen.”
He flashes a grin. “Deal.”
We should go. It’s gotten dark and I’m afraid to see what time it is. I’m sure he’s got better things to do.
Only he doesn’t budge and neither do I. We’re standing here in the middle of nowhere, nameless. We could be anyone. Lawson inches closer, or maybe it’s me. I shiver at the chilly autumn breeze because for just a second, it looks like Lawson Kent is going to kiss me.
Until my feet fully leap off the ground at the startling buzzing in my pocket.
“Oh, shit,” I hiss, watching dozens of notifications for texts, missed calls, and voicemails flash on the screen.
“What?”
“We must have lost reception at some point. I’ve got like a million messages coming in.”
Each successive text from my dad and Sloane is more hysterical. And there’s at least as many from Fenn. Sloane must have gotten desperate to rope him into the search. I’m snatched back to reality by the image of Dad pacing around the house, thinking the worst. Sloane trudging through the woods searching for me.
“We have to get back,” I tell Lawson. “As quickly as possible.”
CHAPTER 24
CASEY
“MUCH AS I’D LOVE TO BE A GENTLEMAN…” IT’S DARK WHEN Lawson pulls up alongside the brick entrance to Sandover’s campus. “I’m letting you off here instead of your house.”
“Don’t even feel bad about it. If my dad didn’t try to have you arrested for kidnapping, Sloane would douse you in gasoline and light a match,” I reply, unbuckling my seat belt and throwing the door open before he’s come to a full stop.
“Then this is where I leave you, fellow rebel.”
“Hey, out of curiosity. What do you plan to do about the car?”
“Oh, this?” He glides his hands appreciatively over the leather steering wheel. “Probably leave it in a handicap parking space in town. Asshole who owns it had it coming.”
I fight a laugh. “Well, good luck with that.”
I grab my backpack from the floor of the passenger seat, then hop out of the Porsche and hurry off in a dead sprint across campus and back home.
I’m somewhat relieved to see the front yard isn’t crowded with patrol cars, but every light in the house is on and the tension emanating from inside is palpable as I approach. I take the walk up the driveway slow, so I can catch my breath, but there’s nothing I can do about how sweaty I am from that run.
Just before I go inside, I shut off my phone.
“Hey, I’m home,” I call with what I hope sounds like nonchalance. “Sorry I’m late.”
Before I even get the door shut behind me, Dad charges into the foyer. Sloane pounces from the kitchen. They’re on me and shouting incoherently over each other, absolutely bombarded by panic and anger.
“Where have you been all night?”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I’ve been trying you for hours.”
“Whoa. What’s going on?” I feign surprise as I kick off my shoes. “I didn’t realize my phone died.”