Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
We’re going around and around in circles. We’ll be here all night, warring over who’s the most stubborn, and I don’t have time for that. I lean across the console and prop my arm on the passenger side seat so I’m nice and close to him. “You know what? Go right ahead. Enjoy the view of my rusty fender for as long as you damn well please.”
Then I grab the door handle and yank on it. He moves just in time for me to slam it shut without hurting him in the process.
As I pull out of Dale’s parking lot, I’m high on how wonderful it felt to slam the door in his face. What kind of jerk insists on escorting a woman home? Hasn’t he heard of consent? Women’s rights? Hello, it’s the twenty-first century! If I want to drive in the dark on some shitty two-lane highway, that’s my right!
My fuming anger burns out quickly though. I’m not even five minutes from Dale’s before I start to regret not arguing with him more. The truth is, I don’t really care all that much if Ben wants to make sure I get home safe. It’s kind of sweet, and honestly, I can’t remember the last time anyone cared that much about me or my life.
My real worry is that taking Ben back to my trailer is crossing some kind of invisible line. I don’t really want him to know where I live or, more importantly, how I live.
Until now, he’s only seen me at the diner. There’s a nice padding between him and my real life. We talk and taunt each other, and occasionally, yes, we flirt, but bringing him back to my trailer, showing him this part of my life…it’ll ruin everything.
I can already imagine the pity on his face, and I don’t want to see it.
I rub my palms on the steering wheel, glancing back at Ben’s headlights in my rearview mirror.
Just leave.
Please.
But he doesn’t, and soon enough, we’re pulling off the highway and passing Sheriff Corbin’s farmhouse. I know what Ben’s thinking: This is where she lives? It’s not bad. In fact, it’s a pretty little house nestled on a nice piece of land.
Then I keep driving past it, around the bend. The compact dirt road starts to give way to one a little more cobbled together. Weeds sprout up in the divide between the tire tracks as we keep driving through a grove of trees toward the back of the property.
My headlights illuminate the beat-up trailer and I wince, taking it in with fresh eyes. I hate that I’m near tears right now. I hate that I have to feel shitty about where I’m at in life. I’m not a deadbeat. I didn’t screw up and get myself into a bad situation. Life’s just dealt me a bad hand time and time again.
I park and turn off the car, staying where I am for a beat and waiting to see if Ben will leave now that I’m home. What a blessing that would be.
He cuts the engine in Leanna’s car, and we’re plummeted into darkness. Out here in the country, there’s nothing but the moon and stars to lead me to my trailer door.
With a resigned huff, I grab my purse and my clothes from the back seat then head out into the night. Rocks and grass crunch under my shoes, and I listen carefully as Ben opens his door and joins me.
I don’t bother telling him he can come in, and he doesn’t bother asking.
What must it feel like to own the world? To slide through life with that much confidence?
I don’t keep the trailer door locked, so I whip it open and flip the switch inside so warm light floods out.
“Come in quick if you’re coming. The light draws in all the bugs.”
Ben climbs the stairs after me and lets the trailer door slam shut behind him.
I keep moving down the narrow galley walkway, past the bench and table on the right and the kitchen on the left without looking back at him.
There’s a deafening silence in here that even the hum of the cicadas outside can’t drown out.
My hands shake with nerves as I drop my purse and my work clothes on my bed, shutting the door of the small bedroom behind me as I re-enter the common space.
Ben’s still standing right beside the door, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he inspects every inch of my trailer. His gaze slides over my blown-up image of the Hubble Ultra-Deep Field I keep above the table. It’s a shitty poster I grabbed inside of Caltech’s campus bookstore. I used to keep it in my dorm room. Here, in the trailer, with the shallow light, you can barely tell what it’s supposed to be. It almost looks like assorted-sized white and yellow confetti on a solid black background.