Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I watch Sloane as she hands Gemma one of the gifts from her bulky-and-so-not-her purse. Gemma opens it, grins widely, and then hugs Sloane. From my vantage point, it’s a white box. Probably a mirror. Gemma loves mirrors.
I smirk at my internal barb at my perfect sister when Sloane searches the small crowd of people. For a brief moment, I wish it were me she’s looking for. What would it even feel like to be Sloane’s man?
Before I can dream about such a scenario, her blue eyes lock onto mine. Her smile is small, but it feels fucking huge pointed my way.
Why the hell is she smiling at me?
Fuck, she’s coming over.
My shoulder muscles tighten as she ambles across the room. I force my gaze to remain on her face and not focus on how her nice tits jiggle and bounce as she approaches. Staring at her tits won’t win me any brownie points.
“Troublemaker,” Sloane says, hugging her massive purse to her. “Looking kind of lonely over here all by yourself.”
The first time she called me “troublemaker” was when I drove Mom’s car into a telephone pole when I was thirteen. She wasn’t Sloane, my sometimes babysitter. That day she was an angry cop. The nickname sort of stuck since then, and I hate that it makes my skin crawl.
I don’t want to make trouble for her.
I want to make it all go away.
“Officer Do-Good.” I grin at her, wide and fucking fake as hell. “They let you out of the donut shop—er, police station—long enough to socialize with the Park scum?”
Her brows knit together and her smile falters. “You okay?”
Hell no, I’m not okay.
The woman of my dreams has always seen me as a little shit stirring up drama in this town. If she knew I crushed over her so madly, she’d probably laugh in my face.
“Peachy. Just counting down until this shit is over,” I admit with a huff.
“Same.”
I jerk my eyes back over to her, surprised to find humor dancing in her beautiful eyes. “Sloane Thurman,” I say, mock horror in my tone. “Don’t let your bestie know you’d rather be anywhere than here. She might die of a broken heart.”
She smirks at me. “Jamie knows how I feel about stuff like this.” After she plucks the wrapped present from her purse, she meets my stare. “You and Gemma are special, which is the only reason why I’m here.”
We’re special.
Fuck, I feel thirteen again and not at all like the adult I now am.
Rather than cringing at her well-meant words, I take the horribly wrapped gift from her. She watches me, nervously nibbling on one corner of her bottom lip. I save her the trouble of the suspense and rip off the paper.
An iPad.
“Uh, thanks?”
Her shoulders stiffen and she lifts her chin. “It’s more than just an iPad, Dempsey. You’ll have to excuse that it’s been opened, but I added some apps to it.”
Curiosity has me plucking off the lid and retrieving the lightweight device. I have my phone for all my socials and a laptop I used for school, but I’ve never had a use for much more than that. Once I have the iPad out, I flip open the cover and hit the button to turn it on.
“The passcode is your birthday, but you’ll want to change that to something more secure,” she says, stepping closer—so close I can smell her fruity perfume that makes my mouth water.
Knowing she was there when I was born, hence how she knows my birthday, is a bit of a buzzkill when it comes to my crush on her. I mean, she saw my naked, screaming crybaby ass, for fuck’s sake. She will never see me as a romantic interest. And I will forever be bitter over that fact.
The iPad shines brightly and I look over the apps, most of them I know well. She points an unpainted, filed-down fingernail at the Procreate app.
“It’s for drawing. I know you do a lot of sketching in your drawing pads and notebooks, but I thought you might like to try your hand at digital art.” She digs into her purse and retrieves another item, this one not wrapped. “This came today and I didn’t have time to wrap it up. It’s an Apple pencil. You use it to draw with.”
Her thoughtfulness for my gift pushes away all my previous awkward feelings. Warmth blooms inside my chest and that familiar longing aches.
“I love it, Sloane.” I love you. “Thank you.”
She grins at me, relief shining in her eyes. “Good. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. You’re really talented.”
I blink at her, soaking up her words. She thinks I’m talented?
“You want to see what I draw?” I ask, sounding dumb as fuck. “I, uh, sure. Yeah, I’ll text you.”
Carefully, I close the iPad and tuck it back inside the box, stacking the Apple pencil box on top. The paper I’d ripped off litters the floor in front of me. As if we both come to the conclusion that it needs picking up at the same time, we kneel, faces inches from each other.