Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 124574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 623(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 623(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Since Keltan.
I stood, padding over to the package and lifting the black suede Jimmy Choo’s, turning them in the light. “They do. But I want to have somewhere to wear them that isn’t the club or Laura Maye’s bar. And a use for them that isn’t to take a photo of me wearing some fabulous outfit looking like I’m not going to one of those places and posting it on my blog, giving an illusion of a life that I’m not really living.” I sighed, placing them down carefully.
“Wow. That’s deep,” Polly observed.
I sighed again. “Yeah.” I glanced up to see my sister’s face contorted in worry. I quickly straightened my shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m not eating carbs this week. You know that makes me melancholy,” I tried to reassure her.
Her frown only deepened. “You know you’re beautiful already and shouldn’t be doing things like that to perpetuate a stereotype of how women should look,” she grumbled.
I grinned. “I’m not doing it do perpetuate a stereotype. I’m doing it to ensure I can fit the sample sizes. They’re the only ones I can afford.” I winked.
She rolled her eyes, lifting herself off my black suede sofa and throwing down my white fur throw. “Whatever. I’ve got a poetry slam to go to, wanna come?” she asked, grabbing her fringed bag from the ottoman.
I raised my brow at her. “In what universe?”
She rolled her eyes again.
I folded my arms. “Actually, in what universe would you be going?”
My sister always had a passing fancy. Knitting. Jewelry making. Pottery. Mountain biking.
They usually had one thing in common.
“This wouldn’t have to do with a guy, would it?” I asked, smirking.
She scowled at me. “Of course not. Poetry is good for the mind. The soul,” she snapped.
I continued to look at her.
She blew her choppy bangs from her face. “Okay, it’s because of a guy,” she relented. “But Skyler is really the one. He’s soulful and kind and sensitive and—don’t say it!” she commanded, pointing at me as I opened my mouth to tell her that she’d had about fifty “the ones” in her short life. “This one is really special.”
I nodded, going to kiss her head. “Of course, he is, Lol. I’ll burn his car to the ground otherwise.”
She stepped back, hitching her bag on her shoulder. “You couldn’t do that, he doesn’t have a car. Doesn’t believe in polluting the environment with more fossil fuels. He rides a bike.”
I choked back my smile. “Of course, he does,” I said with a straight face. “Bikes can still burn too. With enough gasoline.”
She rolled her eyes once more before turning on her fringed ankle boot. “Goodbye, loving and arsonist sister,” she called on her way out.
“Say hello to Skyler for me. Peace to Mother Earth.” I held up two fingers to her.
She gave me her middle finger as response.
I shook my head as the door slammed closed.
My sister and I were polar opposites in every way. And not just the way she rebelled against black like I did pastels. She fell in love all the time, letting everyone in.
Me? I avoided it like I did pastels and let no one in.
Well, apart from the guy under my skin.
Silence which descended on my black-and-white living room itched my skin. It was far too accommodating for thoughts that needed to be unthought.
I jumped when “Sexy Bitch” punctured the air. Then I glanced to my black quilted Chanel, realizing where the sound was coming from and who was calling.
Only one person would program that to be their own personal ringtone. Especially when I just changed it from “Remember the Name.”
“Hey, slut,” Rosie greeted when I answered. “I feel like partying tonight. Or causing some form of trouble. In?”
I gazed around my quiet living room, the stillness and silence more than a little stifling.
“So in,” I said without hesitation. Maybe I should have started being responsible.
Maybe I would.
Tomorrow.
Horns sounded through the phone, which I had no doubt had to do with Rosie’s driving. “See you in five. Wear your new shoes.”
The car stopped, and I frowned.
“Is this my house?” Rosie asked, leaning over me to peer at the small cottage.
I peered with her. “No. I’m reasonably sure it’s mine.”
The door opened, and because I had been peering at the window, and Rosie had been leaning over me, I almost toppled out, not expecting it. My seat belt caught me, and I hung there for a moment, suspended in the air.
“Fuck,” Dwayne muttered, amusement dancing in his tone.
It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d picked us up from a club in Hope. Lucky had come too, with Wire driving the truck. All three of them were not exactly impressed to be traveling to a club the next town over, where they had rumblings of trouble with a rival club, to pick us and Rosie’s car up at 2:00 a.m.