Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Moments ago, it was like déjà vu all over again. A sudden frantic sprint to figure out where Sloane’s perpetually misplaced little sister wandered off to. Turns out it was the same as last year. Except this time, it ended with Lucas being escorted out of the building by two plainclothes officers.
“I didn’t have Lucas pegged as the type,” I remark. “Doesn’t get much more cold-blooded than leaving a girl trapped in a sinking car.”
Lawson barely grunts a response. He’s still nursing the bruises from his bro-down with Fenn the other night. Looks worse than that time he got cornered by the older brother of that chick he took to the Bahamas and left at the airport because he got drunk and wandered his way onto someone else’s private jet.
“What do you think happens to him now?” I ask.
Lawson shrugs as he hits his flask again.
I grin. “Are you still sulking?”
Since the fight with Fenn, the little clique with RJ and Sloane won’t give him the time of day anymore. I don’t see the problem, frankly. Screw them all. I’m tired of them and their grudges, taking fights to heart and abandoning friends left and right. Look at me and Lawson—we fought outside the bar, exchanged some harsh words, and then put it behind us. Sloane and her crew really ought to follow that lead. And if they can’t, well, then who needs ’em.
But Lawson is like the dog abandoned on the side of the road, looking longingly at the bumper as it drives away.
“Fuck them,” I advise. “Who gives a shit?”
“At this rate,” he murmurs at the rim of the flask, “I don’t think any one of them would piss on me if I were on fire.”
“So then get over it and move on. What’s the point being all depressed over people who don’t matter?”
Lawson shrugs again and tilts the flask back. “They were my friends.”
Whatever. He’s bumming me out. If I stick around much longer, I might throw myself off the roof.
I notice Mila and Oliver at a table with some Ballard people, and stalk off, tired of Lawson’s sulking. Skirting the dance floor, I wander over in their direction. Mila’s the first one to catch my eye and jerk her head to call me over.
She greets me with a smirk. “Silas.”
“Mila,” I mimic.
She’s looking good. I’m surprised the faculty chaperones let her walk in here with that neckline. Her tits are practically spilling out of her tight red dress. I forgot how hot Mila is when she’s trying. Though from here, it seems like she isn’t getting the attention from Oliver that she’d prefer. She’s staring at the side of his face while he talks to his buddies.
“I don’t know what you did to Amy,” she says with a vicious grin, “but I think it was an improvement.”
“If you say so.” I help myself to a seat beside her. “That’s been over a long time.”
Oliver laughs to himself. “Dude, she hates your guts. I’d keep an eye on your drink. Wouldn’t put it past her to slip you some poison.”
“If it’d make this dance over sooner, I might like it.”
They all laugh, but I’m only half kidding. It’s like every year I forget how unbearably lame these things are. And predictably disappointing.
“I definitely wore the wrong shoes,” Mila says. She throws her feet in my lap with a sad pout. “Get these things off me. Please. Find a plastic butter knife and start sawing at my ankles.”
I grin at her. “I cannot in good conscience let you walk around this gym barefoot.”
“Unless you want to get ringworm.” Oliver makes a gagging face.
Christ, I’d give anything to be enrolled at Ballard again. Just get the hell out of fuckup school. I think that place has managed to rub off on me, dragging me down to its level. I don’t how I’ll survive another semester without dropping IQ points.
Mila suddenly gets a weird look on her face. I follow her gaze toward RJ and Sloane, who just sauntered back inside to grab her purse and his jacket from a table.
“God, not you too,” I say at the expression of longing.
“Shut up.” She kicks me in the stomach. “You don’t have any room to talk.”
“Still pining over the one that got away?” Oliver dodges when she swings her arm to smack his shoulder. “He’s coming this way. Hurry up and flash your tits at him.”
Sloane’s storm-gray eyes look right through me as she and RJ pass our table. Then her gaze flits toward Mila, her full lips turning up at the corners.
“He’s a good kisser, huh?” she mocks, pulling RJ by the hand behind her.
Mila turns away, absolutely fuming as she moves her legs from my lap. If daggers could fly out of her eyeballs, Sloane would be a goner.
Oliver is grinning like an idiot. “What was that about?”