Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I don’t hear a splash or the rasp of a towel sliding off the rack, but suddenly, the door is jerked open. There’s a second of stunned shock as my eyes land on her naked…face…Then comes a shrill scream, and the door slams shut.
I whip around, even though Azalea isn’t standing there naked anymore. I didn’t see anything. Just a flash of creamy skin, and then my eyes were honed in on her face. I swear.
“Shit shizzle,” I curse under my breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were getting out. I…I’ll turn around.”
“Just leave!” she thunders back. “I thought you already had.”
“I didn’t see anything, I promise.”
The bathroom door cracks open an inch, and one cerulean eye bluer than any ocean peeks out at me. “Holy shit, you’re still here.”
“I’m still here.” I quickly whip around, facing the other direction.
“Why the shit haven’t you left?”
“I’m sorry. I…shit. Please don’t scream. My granny would have my balls for this. She’s downstairs, and she just ordered pizza. I’m very, very sorry. For all of this. I’m turned around now. I promise I won’t look.”
The door creaks as it swings open. I swear the air behind me turns frosty, and I can feel her glacial stare stabbing into my back, then the door bangs shut. She emerges shortly after, drowning in my black T-shirt, which does indeed go down to her knees, my sweats baggy below it. The sight of her in my clothes stuns me stupid for a brief second. A very brief second. I wrench my eyes away, determined not to swear, and bring them back up to her face. Her blue eyes are narrowed, her lush lips are pulled into a thin line, and the red staining her cheeks is unmistakably anger directed at me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, apologizing again. “I didn’t mean to hurt or scare you. I promise. It’s been pointed out to me that I went about all this the wrong way. I know that. If I could take it back, I would. I would…I would have come and talked to you. Taken the chance.”
She cocks her head, then shakes it. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“Well, I would have brought Granny with me. Maybe you would have listened to her. We could have…we could have checked out a book from you. As a gesture of goodwill.”
“Checked out a book?” she scoffs. Her arms cross over her chest, pulling the fabric tight around her breasts. Her nipples are beaded, even though it’s not cold in the room, and yes, I definitely just noticed that.
I start thinking about the endless list of tasks I need to get done to distract myself before more mice can move into the tent in my pants. Which isn’t actually happening right now because I’m trying very hard not to make it happen. I’m breathless, I realize, when I go to stammer something else. Breathless? I do not get breathless. Even after having the shit kicked out of me on the street when I was young, I still had enough wind left to throw curses at the ones raining down the blows.
“You’re just trying to save your biscuits by buttering me up. Or you just want to get what you want, which is my signature on a marriage document.” Her eyes land on my right arm. I realize that it’s hanging down at my side. Both my arms are.
As soon as we were out of the basement, I shed my jacket and rolled up my sleeves because I was hot and the pizza was greasy. This means my ruined forearm with all the scars, the funny ridges, and irregular bumps where the bones healed entirely fucking wrong is on full display. I quickly stuff my arm behind my back, a knee-jerk reaction, but it’s clear she’s already seen it. Her eyes are just that much wider with surprise, but there’s undeniably a little bit of softness there too.
The one thing I think I’m going to like about Azalea? She’s unfailingly direct. “Jesus, it’s true. What your granny told me about you jumping out of that window, I mean. Unless you mangled up your arm some other way. Like…like you decided to try jumping a steaming mountain of poo on your dirt bike, and instead of just jumping it, you decided to do a front flip over it at the last second because you thought you were hot teenage shit, and the universe and gravity gave you a big slap down to prove you wrong.”
“Sadly, no. It happened the way my granny said, though I like your version better. I might have to tell people that in the future. Although, wouldn’t the poo be soft and cushion the blow?”
I swear her lips twitch. The fact that I might be the least bit amusing to her tickles me dang well pink. I mean, no, it doesn’t. I’m just here for the fake marriage.