Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
His excited squeal echoed down the hall. Nora just stood in the doorway, glaring.
“Thanks for grabbing him last night,” I said. Being nice to her was pretty much the same as trying to swallow a cactus—painful and awkward. But she’d helped my brother out. I had no choice but to be less of a dick to her now.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” She brushed her nails on her shirt. “I don’t like you, but he’s cute.”
Arlo shot around her like a canon, then latched onto my leg. “I’m glad they didn’t keep you.”
“Yeah, me too, buddy.” I scrubbed a hand over his messy hair, giving Nora one last, thankful glance before we turned and headed to my car.
“Why’d you park here?”
“Because…” I didn’t want to deal with Dad, so I opened the back door, motioning Arlo in. “Wanna grab a Happy Meal and go to Hendrix’s to play on his PlayStation?”
His eyes lit up, and he hopped right in, buckling himself up with a grin. “Yeah! He’s got that game with girls in short dresses.”
“You are not playing Grand Theft Auto, Arlo.”
* * *
A Happy Meal later, Arlo sprinted across Hendrix’s living room, the paper bag in tow as he snatched the game controller from the coffee table. “This is the best day ever!” He threw himself down onto the ratty couch cushions before fishing out a handful of fries.
Hendrix stood by the kitchen, eyeing the bag. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted a Happy Meal, cocksucker.”
I flipped him a bird, told Arlo not to play anything other than SpongeBob, then followed Hendrix into the kitchen.
He hopped onto the laminate countertop, cracking open a can of soda. “Did they make you get naked and lift up your ball bag?” He grinned before slurping back his drink. “Zepp said that’s what they made him do.”
“Man, shut up.” I grabbed a spatula from the stove and hurled it at him, but he ducked. “Zepp’s in prison. I was only there for ten hours.”
“Why’d you have weed in the car anyway, dickstench?”
“I didn’t.” I combed my fingers through my hair, pacing the small space between the kitchen table and the cabinets. Pissed.
Drew may not have been competition, but she was definitely a problem. A big, hot-ass problem. I recalled how smug she looked, leaned against the smooth paint of her expensive car, watching while the cops hauled me off—to jail. She was a used-to-be rich girl, which meant she probably had no idea what the implications of what she’d done actually held—of course, she didn’t. Or she would have planted more than a dime bag of weed. But still. Forget the record. Forget the inconvenience. She’d inadvertently put Arlo in danger, and that was enough to make my blood boil white-hot. And the more I thought about it, the more sinister my thoughts of retaliation grew.
Hendrix stared at me. “Fuckface! Why was there weed in your car? That’s like the cardinal sin of—”
“The new girl set me up.”
His eyes popped wide, and he lowered the soda to his side. “Oh, it’s on now, cocksucker.” He hopped off the counter. “It’s on now. ‘Cause she just put her feet all over your rug.” He tapped the toe of his sneaker over the kitchen rug. “Just like that.”
And that was an understatement.
8
Drew
Steam billowed out of the enclosed shower when I opened the door. My mood had greatly improved since I’d watched the cops haul Bellamy away in the back of a police car. I knew he wouldn’t stay in jail for a dime bag, but that hadn’t been my intention.
Last night, the entire point had been to show Bellamy West that he was not screwing with some “wet behind the ears” little rich girl. That I could, in fact, get to him.
I wrapped a towel around me, then wiped a visible patch through the fogged-over mirror to clean up the mascara below my eyes before I headed into my room. I made it two steps over the hardwoods then froze before stumbling into the doorframe on a scream when I noticed Bellamy’s tall frame stretched out across my bed.
“You always scream like that when a guy’s in your bed?” Bellamy asked. One arm rested behind his head like he belonged here. “Huh, baby girl?” He glanced up from the picture of Genevieve and me he held in his free hand, then tossed it to the foot of the bed. That was when I noticed the metal baseball bat beside him, nestled among my blankets.
Something crashed downstairs, followed by a guy shouting. More things shattered. And I was frozen in place, freaking out completely.
He was in my house. And he didn’t come alone. Fear shot to the forefront of my mind, full force. An alarm wailed at me to run, or at least try to make it to my dad’s room where he kept a gun, but I didn’t even know how to use a gun. My heart pounded out a frantic rhythm as I pressed my back to the wall, trying to keep as much space between and the baseball bat wielding maniac as possible.