Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“I’ll go bankrupt.”
“A fitting punishment for your sins.” She smiled happily. “Want to know how many times you cursed?”
“Not really.”
“Forty-four. That’s an average of more than one a minute.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She flipped an invisible notepad open and pretended to cross something off with an imaginary pencil. “Make that forty-five. I see you’re eager to buy Staindrop Elementary another field.”
“Someone is being mouthy these days.” Not that I had any complaints. I’d come for seconds and thirds of that attitude.
“Oh, did you mistake my anxiety for weakness?” Her eyes flared. “Rookie mistake. My tongue is more lethal than any man’s fist.”
I bet so, sweetheart.
I was waiting for her to give me shit about Allison. But she didn’t. Instead, Cal swung her gaze to the ceiling and chewed on her lip, looking thoughtful. “I may or may not have also recorded ‘The Protest Song’ on my phone and put ‘Stan’ in the background.”
“Liar.” I pursed my lips. Dylan, Mom, and Fuckface trailed behind us, though really, they might as well have been on another planet.
“Their beat was something fierce.” She stopped dead in her tracks and swiped her phone screen. The Righteous Gang’s version of “Stan” filled the air.
I couldn’t help it. I let out a chuckle and shook my head. “You’re a nut.”
“When I checked the BPM, I realized Gertie is a straight-up musical genius.” She rose on her tiptoes and plastered the phone closer to my ear. “My favorite part is when they call you a villain. I could listen to it until my ears fall off.”
I was smiling. Why was I smiling? This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Besides, I never smiled. Smiling was reserved for other people, who were capable of being happy. The height of positivity I could reach, emotionally, was being not pissed off.
Dylan pushed between us, flinging an arm over each of us. “Aw. Look at you two not even trying to scoop each other’s eyes out.”
“It’s good progress from the time Cal brought you cupcakes.” Mom caught up with our pace, nodding in approval.
“Having everyone home is so much fun.” Dylan sighed.
“Tucker isn’t home, though.” Cal frowned.
“I said what I said.” Dylan rolled her eyes.
Fuckface turned to me, changing the subject. “Hey, didn’t know that you and Allison used to knock boots. I took her to prom, you know.”
“Had no idea she was contaminated. I’ll scrub extra hard today in the shower,” I drawled.
“Be sure to use bleach too. We were drunk that night and some funky things went down.” Kieran tipped an imaginary hat, making my mom choke on her take-out coffee. “Thing is…she doesn’t seem like your type.”
“What’s my type?” I humored him.
Kieran stroked his chin. “Someone who isn’t completely dead inside. Someone cheerful to level out your darkness. You need a yin to your yang.” He gave me a once-over. “Your yang is kind of terrible.”
Glancing quickly at Cal, I noticed not only did she not have any opinion about my short affair with Allison but she didn’t look too bothered by the revelation either. Why did it drive me up the fucking wall that she wasn’t jealous?
Because you still care, and she is still not interested.
I wanted to yell at her, I’m McMonster. I’m your fucking fantasy. Me. The same guy who has always been there, in your periphery, waiting to save the goddamn day and not take any credit for it.
I taught you how to drive. I made your birthday cakes up until your sophomore year. I fucking took your virginity because you asked not so nicely, even though I knew it was going to undo me.
I pushed the exit door open and held it for everyone other than Fuckface—he could hold his own damn door. When I stepped outside into the frosty winter evening, I bumped into my mother’s back. She was standing frozen to the sidewalk, staring at the street. So were Dylan and Cal.
“Mom?” I peered down at her face to find it was pale as a sheet.
“Honey…” Her jaw nearly hit the floor.
I followed her line of sight. My Silverado, which was parked across the street, had all four tires slashed to ribbons. They were so badly ripped, the barrel was completely naked from the tire. A rush of heat climbed up my neck.
“Motherfucker.” I stomped my way to the truck, bending down to take a better look at the prankster’s handiwork. My blood simmered to a dangerous temperature. The dead coyote had been uncalled for. I had let it slide, filing it as a last-ditch effort by some punk before the town hall meeting. There was the mysterious hate mail too, but getting trashed was no news to me. I was used to it from being (A) a celebrity, and (B) a major asshole.
Now this? This was personal. Not to mention inconvenient. I couldn’t go anywhere without my truck. Someone was following me around and making my life hell, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.