Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Nah, man, stop bein’ a baby,” I say, ignoring my own feelings.
Billy drops his hands and nods with sudden resolve. “You’re right. No cryin’,” he decides, despite his teary eyes. “I need to do somethin’ about all this. I’ll find some way to save her business and save her, uh, face. With the …” He gestures at the air. “With the … the Spruce Ball thing.”
I smirk. “Good luck with that.”
Billy tries on a smile, then sighs. “Ugh, I knew hirin’ TJ way back when was gonna screw me in the end with Nadine. She has never quite forgiven me for that. No offense.”
I let out a strained chuckle. “None taken, my man.”
“I’m gonna have to make some big changes.” Billy wipes off a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “How’s Bobby? How are you? I heard you boys are headin’ into the city this weekend.”
“Yep. Bobby and I are just gettin’ away for a bit before he gets hired by … uh, whoever.”
“Y’know, I’d hire him at T&S’s in a blink,” Billy quickly says, “but we just hired two new girls, and the hours are already spread plenty thin. It’d be an insult to Bobby to offer him five hours a week, if you get what I’m sayin’.”
“I do.” I give Billy a hearty pat on the shoulder. “I’ll put in a word for you with my mama, see if I can smooth things over a bit.”
“Lifesaver,” he mutters at me, shoots me a smile, then heads on out of the house to join my brother in the front.
I go back up to my room, swipe my phone off the desk, and start texting Bobby a quick message of what happened.
The text is interrupted by a timely one from him:
BOBS
Do you like movies?
I smirk, then type out a reply:
ME
Of course I do. Why?
I stare at my phone while he types his response:
BOBS
How about an endless supply of popcorn?
I have no idea what he’s getting at. He’s already typing out another text—a much longer one—which I hope explains the odd questions. Does he want to catch a movie tonight or something? Why doesn’t he just come out and say it?
“You’re a tough one to catch, Jimmy Strong.”
I jump, startled, fumble with my phone, and drop it. At my bedroom door stands a girl in a pair of black army boots, faded black jeans with holes at the knees, a red flannel shirt tied at her waist like a skirt, and a loose white V-neck that plunges down enough to show off her smooth, silky bronze skin she gets from her mother’s Mexican side of the family. Her black hair is short and choppy, styled in that I-don’t-give-a-fuck way, squished by a gray hat turned backwards. She’s got a nose ring now and wears that permanent bad-ass smirk on her face I recognize all too well.
It’s the permanent bad-ass smirk of Camille Randall, just the same as I remember it.
“Damn, girl,” I exclaim, grabbing my phone off the floor while keeping my widened eyes on her. “You gotta creep up on me like that after two years? Sheesh, you scared the marbles outta me!”
Camille shrugs glibly. “Billy let me in, said you were upstairs. Phew, he’s having some words with your mother out there. Didn’t want to get in the middle of all that.”
“Yeah. They have …” She looks really good. “They have a lot of shit goin’ on right now. Business stuff. Drama. Politics.” Like, really good. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, same old me, nothing much to report. Your room smells like an armpit, by the way.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It’s alright. The French boy I dated last semester smelled worse.” She throws a totally “bro” chin-lift at me. “We missed you at Amber’s the other night. She said she invited you at CJ’s party.”
I shove my free hand into my pocket, my other still clutching my phone like a weapon. “Yeah, well, when’s the last time I took Amber up on one of her ‘intimate gathering’ invites?”
Camille chuckles dryly at that and shakes her head. “Amber and the girls have chased your nuts for years. You can’t blame the horny bunch of them. They pretty much see your three years of taking high school dance classes with them as foreplay.”
That earns a genuine laugh from me. And she still has that same sassy sense of humor. “Well, I’m sure y’all gossiped plenty about me that whole night.”
“Sure, probably.” She glances at her fingernails—painted as red as that flannel shirt around her waist—and smirks as she looks at them thoughtfully. “Not that I was paying any attention to it. The girls could use a little time outside of Spruce. This town has a way of … trapping you … if you stay in it too long.”
I study her, fidgeting with my phone. “Is that how you felt?” I nod at her. “Trapped?”