Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Let’s just go see what the lil’ dude’s been up to.”
She scrunches up her face. “Is calling him a lil’ dude supposed to make me feel better about the situation?”
She sounds irritated, and I laugh.
“No, I’m just making conversation.” I follow her down the steps, padding barefoot across our grassy yard to hers.
Why is she the one racing around the yard barefoot, in a robe, handling this business by herself? Is there no sense of camaraderie between girls?
“If my roommates were home I would have never come over, I promise. I would have had Bethany’s boyfriend handle the situation.” She considers what she would have done for a few seconds. “Actually, he’s a wimp, so I have no idea what we would have done.” She sighs loudly.
“Bethany has been listening to the squirrel in her wall for the past few days and was freaking the frick out, so she took off and went to a Jon’s house. My other roommate took off, too.”
I know Jill.
She dated Charlie, one of my teammates, for a hot minute last semester when they all moved in. Actually, that’s not true—dating isn’t the accurate term for it.
Fucking. She was fucking one of my roommates, Charlie, for a hot minute last semester.
Several large, mature oak trees are between her house and ours, and acorns are scattered on the ground like confetti—one of the reasons the squirrel population in this town is so high, according to my own theories.
Lizzy’s house doesn’t have a front porch like ours does.
In fact, it doesn’t have a front porch at all, so she leads me to the side of the house, down their short driveway, and to the side door with its tiny awning and small stoop. It’s facing our house, and when we step inside, we’re automatically in the kitchen—a kitchen I can see inside at night when the girls have all their lights on or are standing at the sink.
Not that I spy.
I’m merely saying we can see them walking around inside sometimes.
The first thing I notice about the inside of the house is its smell. Apples and caramel?
Food?
Baked goods?
Smells a whole hell of a lot better than ours, that’s for damn sure. Our house smells like wet gym socks and farts and dirty duffel bags that haven’t been cleaned out in years.
The second thing I notice?
How tidy everything seems to be.
Blankets in the small living room are folded into neat squares and stacked on one end of the couch. The kitchen isn’t full of dirty cups and plates piled by the sink in the same way they are at our place. Also, the girls hung decorations. And they have throw pillows—and curtains.
And cute pictures of themselves stuck with cute magnets to the refrigerator door.
There isn’t clutter anywhere, and I marvel at the differences between chicks and dudes and rubberneck, almost walking into a doorframe while I take it all in, gawking my entire way through the house until we’re standing in front of a closed bedroom door on the first floor.
“Well. This is me. This is it.” She sounds gloomy and foreboding, as if dark things lurk behind the door.
Furry, demonic things.
“Moment of truth,” I joke, not wanting to open the door myself.
Goddamn, I wish one of my roommates were here. I hate this feeling of not knowing what the hell to expect when I turn the knob, cursing toxic masculinity and that it dictates I go through the door first and that I don’t make her do it despite this being her house.
I hate the unknown.
Even in games, after the puck drop, my gut is usually unsettled. In knots. Occasionally, depending on who our opponent is, I feel the urge to vomit. So standing here on the right side of this door and not knowing what that little fucker is up to on the other side? Not knowing what the squirrel is going to do when he sees us?
It's making me ill.
Is he still in there? Is he listening to us talk?
I don’t have anything to defend myself.
Do I face palm him with my hand? Deflect him with my mighty palm?
Maybe I should have brought a hockey stick.
Shit.
Lizzy clears her throat, then nudges me with an elbow. Subtly, but it was still a nudge nonetheless, as she steps aside, presumably so she can stand safely in the hallway while I step inside.
Alone.
Unprotected.
I don’t like this.
I don’t like this at all.
“Do I actually have to go in there?” I can feel my entire face lifted, brows in my hairline, mouth frowning, the space between my brows pulled tight.
I figured I’d ask before cracking the door open and getting my first glance into the fiery abyss of the upcoming battle with an unknown enemy.
Lizzy isn’t amused, her jaw dropping. She stomps her feet.
“Are you being serious right now?”
NEWS FLASH, LIZZY: YES, I’M BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!