Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
We stared ahead at the tower as we passed the drink back and forth. After my fourth swig, an eerie siren I’d expect to only hear in a sci-fi film came from Blake’s purse.
“What in the hell is that?”
“Margot’s text tone.” Blake handed the wine off to me, then dug her phone from her purse. Seconds later, the noise of traffic came through the speaker, followed by Margot’s excited voice.
“Did you know there’s a Rent-a-Poo company? For the small fee of two hundred bucks, I hired a man named Dean to deliver and spread shit all over your mom’s backyard. Tomorrow’s party should be a complete shitshow.” She cackled. Then Blake cackled.
I turned to look at her, taking another swig of wine as I watched her send an all caps: YOU’RE THE BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD before she slid the device back inside her purse. Okay, so based on that, maybe Blake was evil.
“I take it you’re happy Margot enlisted the help of Rent-a-Poo?” I gave the bottle back.
“I promise I’m not a horrible person. My family’s just…” She took a swig, sighed, then dropped her head back against the bench. “Complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Her head rolled to the side. “Are you sure you want to get into this?”
“Yep.”
“My entire life, my mother has ranked my siblings and me with a magnetic board on the fridge. The highest I’ve ever been is third place…”
Half an hour later, I was convinced that Rent-a-Poo at Blake’s sister’s engagement party wasn’t enough. Her older sister was a self-centered backstabber. Her mother sounded toxic. Even the grandma seemed like a branch off Satan’s family tree—she’d told a five-year-old Blake Santa Claus was a bloodthirsty vampire and the reason he needed cookies and milk was to wash the taste of the naughty children from his mouth. I couldn’t believe it, but Blake seemed sane compared to the rest of her family.
She’d just finished telling me about the time she’d been spit on by a llama at a petting zoo.
“Okay,” I said. “So, you have bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” she tsked. “How many times have birds shit you on?”
“Never.”
“Exactly.” Blake sank back against the bench. “Having a bird poop on you once or twice is bad luck. I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve made my head a bullseye. See. Cursed.”
“Bird’s shitting on you is supposed to be a sign of good luck.”
“Nothing to do with shit is good luck, Vance.” She held up a finger. “Except for Rent-a-Poo.” She took another swig from the almost-empty bottle, then sloppily thrust it toward me.
I finished the wine, then placed the empty bottle by my feet. After a few moments of silence, Blake huffed.
“You know, you were the first guy I almost kissed after Jimbo,” she slurred.
“Is that why you punched me?”
“No. I punched you because you were an asshat.”
“For trying to kiss you?”
She drunkenly rolled her head to the side, her eyes slightly crossing as she deadpanned me. “I punched you because you said, ‘I heard you were easy.’”
Surely to God, in my drunken state, I hadn’t actually taken Theo’s stupid how-to-get-a-girl advice?
I swiped a hand over my jaw, recalling how I’d taken Blake into my room, pressed her against the wall, and told myself as much as I wanted to take it fast, I needed to take it slow because I really liked her. I’d leaned into her neck and… Oh, God. My face heated. I had started to say it. Halfway through, I panicked and changed course, but before I could finish my sentence, she’d nailed me. “I was trying to say I’ve heard you’re easy to talk to, but by the time I got the ‘to’ out, your fist was in my face.”
Her brow creased, and those pouty lips of hers turned into a frown. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying. I liked you. Why would I insult you?”
She stared at me for a second—well, as far as I could tell, she was staring at me. Thanks to the wine, her eyes kept crossing. Then the furrow in her brow relaxed, and her eyes widened. “Oh, God. You did say to! Shit, Vance. I really needed it to be an insult. It was my life raft in my ‘I really want to fuck you’ sea, and now I can’t even cling to that.” She released a dejected breath and mumbled, “I’m too drunk for this,” then dropped her head to my shoulder. “Just do me a favor, you pulchritudinous asshole. Don’t let me fuck you.”
What idiot man would stop her? I’d wanted the woman since I’d first laid eyes on her on a casual Friday. Somewhere over the course of the past six months, every little encounter we’d had, every ridiculous story I’d overheard her tell Margot, every unnecessary, long-winded word she’d used to insult me, had made me infatuated with her.