Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
His name is Cooper, but locals call him Coop. He also lives somewhere on the island, and from what I’ve heard, he’s a single gay man. I can’t imagine what effect being single has on a gay man in a beach town full of beautiful men—yet he never seems to pursue anyone, even guys who throw themselves at him across the bar. I notice. Is he grieving a lost lover from his past? Has he sworn off men?
Cooper is a total mystery to me. All I know is, he’s a good person. And I’ve just stolen from him for the second time. Or is it the third …?
“It’ll be the last time,” I tell myself through a mouthful of peanuts, chewing vigorously. “I won’t steal again. I will figure out a way to survive that doesn’t hurt anyone.”
But how can I hope to do that? No one’s door is open, figuratively or otherwise. If anything living on the streets of San Antonio for the past three months has taught me, it’s that no one’s compassion comes free.
I find myself thinking yet again of that old woman on the bus. Maybe I made the wrong choice that day. I should have admitted I had nowhere to sleep. I should’ve accepted her help—but instead, I was my usual stubborn, wary self.
It’s hard to believe that was a whole month ago.
I’ve learned that sometimes when the world won’t give you what you need to survive, you have to take it.
The law sees that as stealing.
I see it as making it to the next day.
Still: “It’ll be the last time,” I repeat, a touch firmer. “I won’t steal again. I will figure out a way to—”
The sound of footsteps jabbing into sand stirs my ears.
I twist my head. Cooper has spotted me.
Every thought flees my head as I tear away from the wall and run. “Hey!” he shouts. Does he seriously expect me to stop and answer him? I dart across the sand, feeling him on my heels with every step. I reach a line of cabanas facing the beach and weave through them. “Hey! Stop!”
Sorry, Coop, but there’s no way I’m stopping.
I hear him stumble and fall with a grunt, which only makes me pause for a second to look over my shoulder. I give him one wince of an apology before I keep running. As I round the corner of an outdoor shower and bathroom, I realize I’ll run a lot faster without holding this can, so I start scooping handful after handful of salted peanuts past my lips as I run, then finally toss the can over my shoulder and pick up speed. I don’t even get to enjoy them as I chew with urgency and run, run, run.
It’s quite a while before I lose him. I might be on the opposite side of the whole damned island by now. Coop’s got a lot of stamina for an older guy.
I’m almost sorry I put him through that.
I plop down on the sand, right in the middle of a bunch of people who are soaking in every last second of the sun as it sets beyond the watery horizon. I hug my knees to my chest and scowl, still hungry. Maybe I could have run even with the can of nuts, but I just panicked and tossed them. I regret it now. A few handfuls didn’t curb the hunger.
Truth is, I’m not ready to get in serious trouble at yet one more location I’ve found. I need this place to work. It’s got everything I need: constantly shifting crowds, wasteful hotels with dumpsters full of treasure, parks, beaches …
Loads of hot men walking around. Tons of wandering eyes. And plenty of left-behind belongings …
“Hey there.”
I glance to my right. It’s some cute guy around my age sitting on a blanket next to me, a book in his lap. He lowers his shades—which he doesn’t need at all, considering only a modest sliver of orange, glowing sunlight remains.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
Is he trying to pick me up? I can never tell if I’m being flirted with. “Fine. Just enjoying the waves, I guess.”
“Tell me about it. This place is like paradise, huh? My boyfriend and I have only been here for a short time, but it feels like we’ve been here forever.”
I nod slowly, not really looking at him. But I do notice he’s alone. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Took a trip to the bathroom. Too many piña coladas,” he adds with a chuckle.
I guess that’s supposed to be a joke. “Cool.”
I feel his elbow nudge my side. “Hey, you alright? You look kinda down. No one in all of Dreamwood Isle should ever be down.”
The best part about talking to strangers is getting to say anything and throw away your emotions. It’s free therapy. “This place is what everyone in San Antonio said it’d be.”