Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Beckett eats slower. “How messy were you?”
I shrug, “I just…felt the moment. We always just feel the moment…” I think more. “Banks only went down on me in the kitchen, so it’s not like we were throwing used condoms everywhere.” Ugh, fuck, I’m still burning up from Thatcher possibly knowing his brother gave me head on the kitchen island.
He can’t have all those details.
I try to hold on to logic and not anxieties.
“Sounds fine to me, Sulli,” Beckett reassures. “They’ve been good to you? Banks and Akara?”
I instantly smile. “Yeah, they really care about me.” Which is kind of why we’re in the middle of nowhere. I stare around at my new surroundings. “I’m actually at a farm right now. Still in Pennsylvania.”
A lone red barn lies in the far, far distance, and a horse freely moseys around the snowy farmland. Haybales kind of look like frosted cake logs.
“What are you doing there?”
“It’s a date. They’re helping me shoot a gun. I’ve been nervous to do it after the cougar attack.” I undersell my fear. Maybe because I want to be like Moffy. Maybe because I’m hoping it’ll be easy to hurdle if I act like it’s a piece of cake.
“I hate guns,” he says casually, then glances somewhere. “Who is it?” I can’t hear the answer, but Beckett looks more interested. “Sorry, I have to go, Sulli.” He gracefully stands. “Oscar’s little sister is at the door.”
“Joana?”
“Yeah.”
She’s a badass and a pro-boxer, but back in Scotland, I remember Joana being super quick-witted and taking plenty of shots at Beckett. And he fired back.
Beckett is sweet, but he’s still a Cobalt, born with a library on his tongue.
“Have fun on your day off,” I tell him.
“Have fun on your date.”
We’re smiling before we hang up. Breathing in the cold air, I see Akara and Banks waiting for me on the snowy field. Banks has an old friend from the Marines who lives alone out here, and he’s letting us shoot some guns on his property.
No one is around but us for what feels like miles and miles, so they’re not hovering like bodyguards. I’m just a normal girl out on a winter date with both of my boyfriends. Which, yeah, having two boyfriends is not that fucking typical, but I don’t care.
I’m trying to take my own adventure, my own path. Not journey through someone else’s.
I hike my leg over the wooden fence, following the snowy footsteps they made. I tug a beanie over my damp hair, not dry yet from swim practice this morning. I had to jump in and demonstrate the technique for the fly.
Or as I used to call it, the butterdie.
Maximoff’s favorite is the butterfly, and I dreaded having to swim it. Frankie is best at freestyle, like me. She struggled to pick up the stroke rhythm for the fly today and asked for a visual. So I went in.
Being in a pool the size of Warwick’s transported me to a feeling I’d forgotten.
Like I was meeting up with my greatest friend again. Water kissed my skin, and I never wanted to leave. When I finished, I glanced up at the electronic board, almost expecting to see my time.
Expecting to hear the crowds.
Expecting to feel that big, glorious burst of pride in myself.
When none of those things reached me, I climbed out and watched Frankie go in. And a horrible thought crashed down. I hope she fails.
That thought has stayed with me the whole car ride here.
Akara zips up his red Columbia jacket and calls out, “Hey, slow poke! When’d you turn into a turtle?” He jokes, but his smile starts to fade in real concern. “Are you dragging your feet?”
“Hardy har,” I say weakly. I am sort of shuffling.
Banks frowns. “You okay?”
I zone in on the guns in their hands, apprehension building. “Sort of…”
My spirits should be high, but after the cougar attack a couple months ago, I’m dreading holding a gun again. Fuck, I’m dreading hearing a gun again. On top of that, I’m sinking into a wave of guilt for wishing Frankie ill.
Positive thinking, Sulli
Okay…a major upside to swim practices: Coach Reed never asked me out again. He’s been chill ever since the pizzeria, and I’m guessing it was Akara’s threat that really drilled it in.
Despite that plus, anxiety swells a lump in my throat, and I realize I’m gazing haunted at their guns. They’re staring down at me with a warm blanket of concern. One I kind of just want to wrap up into and forget what I need to do.
What I should do.
“We don’t have to shoot today, Sul,” Akara breathes. “Or ever.”
I hug my Patagonia jacket tighter around my body. “I want to.” Five glass bottles of various sizes are lined up on a haybale in the distance. To our right, a picnic blanket and portable heater are set aside near an oak tree.