Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Queenie finally opens the door, her eyes blinking against the harsh porch light. Her hair rollers are in and she’s tied a robe over her floor-length mumu-style pajama dress.
Officer White wags his thumb toward me. “This yours, Queenie?”
Queenie takes one look at my messy hair and disheveled clothes and purses her lips with disapproval. “Yup. She’s mine all right. Thanks, Dylan.”
CHAPTER 15
After last night, my childhood bedroom is a sanctuary. My Harry Potter sheets are threadbare from being washed eighteen thousand times and my pillow is so mushy it barely supports my head, but in this room, I can almost pretend I’m a child again, problem-free outside of a few puberty pimples and annoying homework assignments.
I could lie here for all of eternity if I had my way, but my anxiety about last night has made it impossible to sleep late. I’m drooling on Hermione’s faded face as vivid memories torture me. My heart rate spikes with each remembered moment. Sawyer’s mouth. His possessive hands. The delicious ache he sated oh so skillfully.
What would have happened if Officer White hadn’t busted us? Would I be waking up in his arms? In his truck?
I throw off my blankets, ignore my pounding headache (hungover doesn’t begin to cover how I feel), and decide I’m going to push through and finish the run I started last night. I need to sweat out the booze and bad decisions.
I change my route this time, hightailing it away from Doc’s and instead looping past my old elementary school and dance studio. Without having had breakfast, I don’t make it as far as I’d hoped, and by the time I’m back at Queenie’s, I’m practically dragging my feet up the front walk.
Inside, my mom is perched in her favorite chair in the living room watching her morning show. Her favorite anchor is talking about the health benefits of eating casseroles (I didn’t think there were any) when Queenie mutes the TV. She’s surveying me with interest.
“Sawyer came by this morning looking for you.” The twinkle in her eyes tells me we’re clearly not done discussing last night. I wrongly assumed I could slink off to bed after Officer White dropped me off on the front porch and that’d be the end of it. “He brought a whole tray of coffees from Golden Harvest and a pastry bag filled to the brim. I already ate one of the cinnamon rolls, but there are a few more in the kitchen.”
What?! Sawyer came here this morning while I was on my run?
“Why’d he do that?” I sound almost distraught.
“I don’t know, hun. From the sounds of it, you two had quite a crazy night. Maybe he just wanted to check up on you?”
“What’d you say to him?” I holler to her from the kitchen as I open the pastry bag and find not just cinnamon rolls but a whole selection of mouthwatering treats.
Panicked, I close the bag and stare at the tray of coffees sitting there waiting for me. On the lids, a thoughtful barista took the time to write all the different drink options: latte, coffee w/ cream, cold brew. Sawyer wanted to make sure I had something I like.
Dammit!
“I asked how his night was and if he got home safe,” my mom yells.
I pluck the latte from the tray and head back into the living room. “I’m sure he got home just fine. From what I understand, Officer White planned to drop him off right after me.”
She hums and gives me a sly smile over the top of her steaming coffee. “Must have been some ride in the back seat of that cop car together. Wish I could have seen it.”
I shudder at the memory. Officer White did all the talking, chastising us about our poor decisions. Sawyer and I couldn’t even look at each other. I was so embarrassed. I assumed Sawyer had sobered up enough to regret what we’d just done together and I didn’t want to see confirmation of that, so I kept my focus out the window. When Officer White pulled up in front of Queenie’s house, I practically wept with relief.
“You sound entirely too amused by this situation,” I say after my first sip of latte. “You’re supposed to reprimand me, you know.”
Queenie arches a brow. “What I don’t understand is what you two were doing before Dylan picked y’all up. What warranted all the fuss? Did you two get into a fight or something?”
“Not exactly…”
“Well you don’t just get arrested over nothing, Madison.”
“We didn’t get arrested.” I’m quick to point this out with an air of superiority. “Just warned.”
“About what?”
I wave away her question. “Something to do with drinking.”
Queenie cracks up at this. “If it had to do with drinking and only drinking, half this town would be getting rides home in the back of Dylan’s car.”