Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
I’m not sure why he’s not using his own shower, but I’m not complaining.
“Get out,” he says, stepping out of the tub.
Dallas wipes off his mouth and throws down the towel as he goes. I whip around to spit out the mouthwash and follow him, but Macon takes my arm and pulls me back before I have a chance. “Not you.”
He takes my face in his hands, inspecting the cuts and bruises as I stand there wide-eyed, my mouth ballooning with mouthwash that’s starting to burn my tongue.
He turns me side to side. “It’s healing.”
I nod.
But then he says, “You didn’t put ointment on last night.”
Like he instructed me to …
How the hell can he tell?
Spinning around, I dive down and spit out the mouthwash, wiping off my mouth. “Do you want a smoothie?” I ask him.
I see the shape of him through the steam on the mirror as he hovers at my back. “No,” he says.
I don’t move, watching him as he stands there, nearly a head taller. He doesn’t tell me to move—or leave—and I go still as he cocks his head, the heat of his body so close it warms me.
Something vibrates under my skin, and I want to feel something that’s not gentle or kind, and all of it hidden away in a dark room.
“Where’s Army?” Macon whispers.
His breath sends tingles across my neck. He knows Army is still asleep.
“Get his fucking ass up,” he tells me.
And then he leaves.
These goddamn men …
I never realized how my school skirt chafed my thighs until I left high school. I run my hands over the pleats and tuck in the black Polo shirt of my old school uniform as I hike up the driveway of Fox Hill.
Kent Sharpe, the security guard, steps out of his guardhouse.
“Hey,” I chirp.
“Hi, hon.” He pulls the toothpick out of his mouth. “All your classmates already left for the day.”
He doesn’t know I already graduated.
“Oh, I know.” I pass him, turning to maintain eye contact as I walk backward. “I forgot my phone on the patio.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Exactly,” I state. “Do you mind if I …”
“Of course not.” He waves me off. “Talk to the host, and he’ll take you back.”
“Thanks.”
Spinning around, I keep walking, super glad he didn’t ask why I’m not driving. I left my car parked along the highway. I don’t want it seen up here.
Crickets buzz beyond the green, in the trees, and a few frogs croak at a nearby pond. I love my town at night. So many nocturnal creatures, and they’re loud. A reminder that a whole other party starts after the sun sets.
I glance to my right, seeing my father’s Bentley Continental, the windshield all repaired, and face forward again. I smile at Rafe as he opens the door to the clubhouse for me. His eyes take in my uniform. He doesn’t ask questions.
Stepping inside, I keep my eyes forward and head straight for the stairs. I try to look like I know where I’m going and what I’m doing, but not so fast that I look like I’m trying to hide it.
I swing around the newel post and head behind the stairs, not up them.
“Still here?” someone calls out.
I look over my shoulder, seeing Louis Fine, the host who works the restaurant, as he crosses the foyer into the bar.
I turn back around and keep going. “A few of us, yeah!”
“Good kids,” he coos. “Working hard.”
I keep going, rounding a corner and disappearing from view as I walk down a long hallway. Marymount Academy, my alma mater, schedules three service days a year as part of our civic credit requirement for graduation. We pick up a little trash off the streets, or mow an elderly person’s lawn, or walk some sick people’s dogs, so our parents and teachers can take pictures and say, “Look what good humans we’re putting into the world.”
But basically it amounts to a day off school where you half-ass it, hang out with your friends, and then cut out early when no one is looking to go party at someone’s pool.
Except me. I was a little shit about a lot things in high school, but I liked service days. No one wanted to go to the assisted living centers, because the old people always wanted to talk to you, but I love to talk.
A lot of students opt for spending the day at Fox Hill, though. There are always famous pros around, lots of hiding places, and the food is excellent. If you’re lucky, you get a cart girl willing to serve you if you tip right. It looks like all the current Marymount students have already left after their service day today, so I won’t run into anyone calling me out, but … it’s also why no one working here is batting an eyelash that a uniformed minor is walking around alone.