Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“I’m going to see family too,” Dalton says.
Ha! So there! Take your sex-posal and put it where the sun don’t shine!
Blondie deflates a bit, looking to her friend for guidance, but she, too, looks confused by Dalton’s rebuff.
“Maybe when you get back then,” she finally says, adding in a wink in case Dalton didn’t already catch on to what she’s suggesting.
He grunts in response. Not a no, hell no, or fuck off, which I know he’s quite capable of saying because he’s said it to me when a teasing poke gets a little too close to home while we’re giving each other shit.
“They’re about to start the countdown,” I tell Rayleigh, pointing to Mayor Haven, who’s standing in front of the angled stack of wood that’s piled five feet tall and surrounded by a circle of large rocks. Somewhere, there’s also a fire crew, at the ready in case anything goes wrong.
“Tap, tap. Is this thing on?” the mayor says into a wireless mic. Once he hears himself, he smiles welcomingly. “I’d like to thank you all for coming to the annual Maple Creek Fall Festival. We’ve had a great day of fun, but the day’s not over yet. It’s time to light the bonfire, start the music, and get this festival truly going. In a family-friendly, safe, and approved manner, of course.” He side-eyes a group of high school boys, who are roughhousing with each other and laughing hysterically at something. “If you’ll all count with me . . . ten, nine, eight . . .”
We count down together and watch the lighting ceremony, where town delegates light small torches before lowering them to the base of the bonfire. Within minutes, the whole pile of wood is crackling and roaring, with flames hot enough to warm the entire area.
“Happy Fall!” people tell each other all around us, the greeting carried from group to group as we celebrate the season together.
Well, not all together.
I hear Dalton say “Happy Fall,” but I don’t answer, keeping my eyes transfixed on the fire, wishing it’d burn Dalton up and turn him to ashes that I could piss on.
“That was beautiful,” Rayleigh gushes beside me. “Can we dance now?” I look over to find her tilting her head to hear the music better as the band starts to play.
I grab her hand. “Absolutely! Let’s go.”
I wave bye to the group, avoiding eye contact with Dalton entirely to keep from snarling at him. As it is, the entire interaction was perfectly normal to everyone else, with nothing weird about it at all—just the usual banter, chitchat, and polite conversation. Nobody would guess that Dalton and I have been talking every day and voyeuristically watching each other masturbate for weeks.
Nope, no one would guess.
As we join the dancers on the rented wood floor, Rayleigh catches my attention. “What’s up with you and the big guy?”
Shiiit.
“Nothing. He annoys me,” I snap, doing a mindless step-touch as I watch the line dance choreography to figure out how it goes. Not that it’s difficult given the Fall Festival’s pretty much just a polite rave, but the older crowd isn’t doing the Wobble I’m familiar with from Chuck’s. Either way, we can’t go wrong because there are several kids simply bouncing around, enjoying the music.
Rayleigh’s smirk says she doesn’t believe that for a second. If there were any doubts, or hopes I might’ve gotten away with it, she dashes them when she adds, “Interesting that I didn’t specify which guy, but you instantly knew who I was talking about.”
She got me. Except . . .
“You mean my brother, right? He’s totally annoying. Always has been, always will be.” I use a play on Shepherd’s words to sell it, but Rayleigh’s overly aggressive positivity doesn’t extend to giving me the benefit of the doubt.
“Shepherd’s not who I’m talking about. And also, not who you were trying to kill with those glares.”
To avoid answering, I join in the dance with the next turn. Rayleigh must already know it because she joins in easily, letting me keep my secrets for now.
Before long, I’ve all but forgotten about Dalton. Or at least I try to. For all I know, he’s still sitting by the bonfire with Blondie. Or fucking her in his truck. Or at her place. Or his.
I growl and lose my step, stumbling over my feet, but catch up pretty quickly.
Later, as Rayleigh and I two-step to a country song about beer and broken hearts, she spins me and I accidentally bump into a guy along the edge of the dance floor. “Sorry!”
“No problem,” he answers. But then he says, “Joy?”
I look at him again. I know him from somewhere. After a second, it hits me, and I gawk. “Marshall? I haven’t seen you in years. How’re you doing?”
Rayleigh catches my eye, checking if I’m okay, then cuts her glance to a guy beside her who’s holding out a hand. I nod and she dances off with him.