Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
I aim a pointed look at Ella. “Really? You couldn’t come alone?”
“What?” Her eyes widen, and she flicks an amused glance at her husband. “He knows everything anyway.”
Eraser glances in the rearview mirror at me. “Seriously, Molly. You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just thought it was going to be a smaller party.” Knowing he’ll report everything I say to my brother, I don’t want to share too many details. “Some of the guys were drunk. I don’t need puke on my favorite Doc Martens.”
Ella chuckles.
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Not a problem,” Eraser says.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare out the window. With each passing street, the houses go from newer, modern styles with tiny, postage-stamp-size yards to older homes with more grass and fewer fences.
Eraser stops the car in front of my old but inviting house, the yellow porch light casting a warm glow over the front steps. “You want us to stick around?”
Oh, how I wish I could say yes. The thought of being alone in our creaky old house is so unappealing. But I can’t ask them to stick around just because I’m a big chicken. “I’m too old for babysitters.” I reach my hand forward and pat his shoulder. “But thank you for the ride. I appreciate it.”
As I open the back door, Ella’s door flings open. She bumps her shoulder into me as we head up the sidewalk.
“Sure you’re all right?” she asks. “I can stick around.”
“I’m okay.” I glance at the car. “I didn’t mean to screw up your night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She waves off my apology with a flick of her wrist. “We were closing Zips. No biggie.”
“How’d it go tonight?” I ask. “Win any money?” Ella’s tiny and dresses like Tinker Bell in her emo era. Guys who come to Zips to race look at her and assume she doesn’t know how to drive. But she’s a fearless competitor who ends up emptying wallets frequently.
“You know I did.” Her lips slide into a confident smirk.
“Wish I’d gone there instead,” I grumble like a cranky toddler.
She squeezes my arm. “Did you talk to Hayden?”
“I saw her before I left.” I leave out the part about my drunk bestie rolling around on the laundry room floor. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
“All right. If you need something, call.” She reaches for me and pulls me in for a hug. “Sorry tonight was a drag.”
“Eh.” I squeeze her tight. “Thanks.”
I lean against the door frame and watch as she slides into the passenger seat. Eraser won’t drive away until I go inside, so I shut the door behind me and throw the deadbolt. The throaty rumble of Eraser’s SUV intensifies, then slowly fades. I flick the porch light off and the hall lights on.
And then I’m all alone.
I escaped the party. Wesley’s drunk at Hayden’s, probably annoying some other girl now. I’m safe here.
So why did all those unsettling feelings from the party follow me home?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Molly
I’m too old to be scared when I’m home alone.
If I keep repeating it, maybe I’ll believe it.
Every creak and sigh of our old house sends jolts of panic shooting through my body.
In my bedroom, I flick the light on. My purple and silver curtains are thick enough to block out the morning sun, but I still can’t shake the feeling that someone could be watching from the street down below. They could realize I’m home alone and pinpoint exactly where I am in the house and—
Stop it!
I flick the light switch off and go to my closet. The door soundlessly slides open and an overhead light automatically brightens the interior. Ugh. I strip off my jeans and kick them into my laundry basket. I can’t believe I wasted my cute outfit on such a sucky party. I should burn it all. The jeans feel tainted after Wesley put his grubby hand on my leg. Yuck.
I curl my fingers in the fabric of a pair of thick, flannel pants and pull them on. My bra’s been annoying me all night, so I happily strip it off. I find a short T-shirt with a rib cage in the shape of a heart with flowers curling between the bones printed on the front and slip it on.
I’m still chilly, though. My fingers brush over soft fabric and I tug. Griff’s hoody. One of many I’ve “borrowed” over the years and “forgotten” to return. My lips curve up and I bury my face in the fluffy cotton, inhaling what’s left of Griff’s scent. I pull it over my head and tuck my phone into the front pocket. My toes have turned to ice cubes on the old, polished hardwood floors. I grab a pair of woolly socks from my dresser and sit on the edge of my bed to pull them on.