Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Is this where you tell us to behave?” one of the girls, the strawberry blonde who had sparkly pink eye shadow, a skintight black dress, and a pair of busted-up sneakers, asked as she got closer.
“Know better than that,” I said, getting a big smile from her as she brushed past me in a haze of after-sun lotion and one too many spritzes of a fruity perfume.
“Never behaved a day in my life,” she agreed, walking backward, still shooting me that megawatt smile as her friends trailed behind her, all pretty in their own right, but unfortunately falling into the shadow of their sunshiny ringleader.
“Ladies!” Sully declared, whipping the door open, arms thrown wide, making his usual Hawaiian shirt—this one featuring an array of colorful parrots—pull open, revealing a sliver of skin down his center, something all the girls seemed to clock in unison. “Did we remember our swimsuits this time?” he asked. “Or are we skinny dipping?”
“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” the strawberry blonde said, reaching out to grab the sides of Sully’s shirt, then using it to pull him inside with her, leaving her friends to move in behind them.
I know the guys at the club, especially the extroverts like Sully, thought of me as a killjoy. And, yeah, I was usually the one putting an end to harebrained schemes. But it wasn’t that I begrudged them their good time. In truth, sometimes I was envious. I just… didn’t know how to loosen up. Easy and fun had never come naturally to me. So, at some point, I stopped trying.
Inside the clubhouse, the music changed from the chill shit that had been on while the guys played cards to something that the girls could dance around to.
By the time I walked around the side of the building, the skunky scent of weed was wafting out from the cracked window.
And for just a moment, I debated going in. Getting a drink. Taking a hit. If there was ever a night when I wanted to feel dull and detached, this was it.
The only thing that made me keep walking around the back of the building—past the pool Sully had championed so hard for, then beyond the field of mint plants one of the princesses had planted years ago that refused to die no matter how many times we dug it out, and toward the trees where I could disappear into the shadows, dropping down onto the rope hammock someone had put up at some point—was the fact that I needed to be sharp in the morning.
The problem with not indulging much, or at all, was that your tolerance was shit when you did smoke or drink.
So I sat on the hammock, letting it sway slightly, creating a breeze to cut the thickness in the air, listening to the distant sound of music, then the squeals, laughs, and splashes as the party moved outside into the pool.
And tried not to think.
Not to dwell on the phone call that had come in just an hour before.
Telling me that my name was found on some documents.
That I needed to come and clean out an apartment.
Belonging to my old best friend.
Who, apparently, had just died a few weeks before.
No one had even told me.
I didn’t even know how it happened.
When the service was.
Or why the hell my name was on important documents in his apartment when we hadn’t been in contact for years.
It wasn’t one of those situations where you had some major blow up that destroyed decades of closeness.
If anything, it was just… you know… life. How everyone bends and grows in different directions until, suddenly, they aren’t in the same place anymore. And sometimes it seemed like that distance was too insurmountable to make your way back. So you don’t even try.
That was what had happened with Clay and me.
We just… drifted apart after I joined the club.
And one day, we just… never saw each other again.
I guess I always figured we would find our way back.
That was how it worked a lot of the time with old friends. You went months or years without speaking. Then one random Tuesday, you both end up at the same grocery store or coffee shop, catch each other’s attention, walk over, say hi, catch up. And it was like no time at all had passed. Then you picked up exactly where you left off.
I always pictured a future with Clay. Sitting around, shooting the shit, sharing both an emotional depth and a surface lightheartedness.
Because he was the only person I had from my old life.
I couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve that bond.
But now?
Now the chance of that was ripped away from me.
And, yeah, I wasn’t coping as well with it as I was portraying to the club.
A voice cleared from behind me, making me jolt upright, my head whipping to the side as my hand slipped toward my waist. But I didn’t have my gun.