Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
“Missed you on Monday,” he says, dropping his cloth and cleaner.
“Girl trouble.”
He smiles. “That’s good trouble to have.”
If you say so.
He gestures. “Got a haircut, I see.”
“No offense.” I take a seat in his barber chair. “Moms, you know? Could use a shave, though.”
Not that I even come close to growing a full beard yet, but I could use a touch up before tonight.
The chair reclines back, me with it, and I close my eyes as he wraps a hot towel around my face.
This may be my last time coming here. I only have four more nights, too, before I return home, like I promised my parents.
I could still return every week, though, couldn’t I? My dad would love to do this with me. It could be our weekly hang-out time.
The heat sinks into my cheeks, making it feel like something is pulling the hair on my arms under my skin, but in the best way. I hear Samson remove his tools from the Barbicide and dry them off before coming in and pressing the hot towel deeper into my face.
Would Kade like to come here? I can’t picture him sitting still for a shave. He seems to slow down even less than I do.
In a minute the towel comes off, the warm shaving cream is smoothed onto my skin, and Samson drags the straight razor up my neck as I tip my head back.
I stare at the pictures on the wall.
“My grandpa was in here a lot back in the day?” I ask.
“He was.” Samson glides the razor up my throat. “He still stops in once in a while.”
“Why would he let this town go to shit if he loved it here so much?”
Samson concentrates on his task, wiping the razor on the cloth hanging over his shoulder before he brings it back to my face. “He’s not God, Hunter.”
I know that, but look at what my family—and Dylan’s family—have done for Shelburne Falls in the same amount of time. The Falls wasn’t considered an affluent area when my dad was growing up. Our house was one of the first of its size when it was built, and now there’s a whole neighborhood of them. With Jax running the track and the summer camp, Jared and JT Racing, and my dad bringing in new businesses, the town is a destination. My grandfather is just as smart and just as invested. He kept a home here, after all.
I need to know why he’d let it fall into Green Street’s hands, especially with…
I let out a long breath as the razor slides up my cheek. “You know Farrow is my grandfather’s son, right?”
Samson doesn’t falter, wiping off the razor and scraping it up my skin again. “You know she’s not alone in that house, right?”
I curl my fingers around the armrests, all thoughts of my grandpa and Farrow gone.
I haven’t seen a single person whom I didn’t know come or go from that house.
But…
It also never felt truly abandoned, either. Someone still owns it.
Fletcher finishes, and I pay him, heading across the street to Dylan’s house.
I lift my hand to knock, hesitating a moment.
A Caruthers would end it now. They would throw her over their shoulder, regardless of how much she kicked and screamed.
A Pierce knows they’ll get what they want—eventually—so enjoy the foreplay.
I knock, and within a few seconds, Dylan answers.
“I need your help tonight,” I tell her.
We cruise to the party, only fashionably late. The team didn’t want to be on time and appear like we had nothing better to do tonight, but my brother isn’t stupid. If we waited an hour to arrive, he’d just post about how scared we were to be on their turf.
Instead, we all pull into my parents’ driveway—Constin, Farrow, Dylan, and Mace on bikes, the rest of us in cars and trucks—at eight-thirty, and according to Farrow, we’re leaving by ten.
Dylan climbs off her bike and removes her helmet, the red leather jacket doing a shitty job of protecting her from anything. I see the outline of her bikini underneath, her naked waist calling to me like a fucking magnet.
She removes her backpack and takes out a container of brownies she must’ve picked up at Frosted on the way. She said Quinn left treats.
We all stroll to the house, and I open the door, leading everyone inside.
“Welcome,” Kade calls.
He strolls through the foyer in swim shorts, no shirt or shoes, and a drink in his hand like this is my first time here too. Stoli and Dirk flank him, and I hear people in the kitchen. Others move around the pool through the double doors on the back patio, steam rising from the water.
Kade stops in front of me. “Keys in the bowl,” he says, pointing to his friend next to him who holds a glass dish. “Stoli will be in charge of the sober check when you leave.”