Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
We’re pulling back up our private driveway, and when the car stops, I go to launch out the door.
“Wait!” Nate halts me. “I’m serious, sis. You can’t tell anyone about what happened tonight.”
“What the fuck did happen tonight?” I ask, looking at all of them.
“We—I can’t talk about it with you.”
“Well, why fucking kidnap me then?” I’m looking directly at Nate now. “Why not just say to me, ‘Oh hey, wanna play Truth or Dare?’ Like, fuck, Nate!”
“Fuck,” he grunts and then looks to Bishop. “We should have done that.”
Bishop shrugs. “Never played that fucking game, and ain’t about to start.” Bishop then looks to me. “And that ain’t what we’re about, Kitty.”
“Oh! No you—”
Nate pushes me out and then slams the door. My mouth drops open at the closed door just as the stretched Hummer starts to pull out. I bring my hand up and flip them off, not doubting they’d be able to see, before I stomp up the marble stairs and then to the heavy double doors. A yawn slips past my mouth, and when I see the large clock that hangs on the feature wall inside the sitting room, I know why. The sun is about to come up, and I don’t want to risk waking Tatum or having her inquire where I’ve been, so I walk into the living room. After removing my shoes, I pull down the throw from the back of the couch and curl into the warm, soft blanket.
MY LEG FEELS HEAVY, AND the first thing I smell is—
“Bacon!” My eyes pop open.
Tatum walks into the sitting room with a frying pan in her hand and her hair already flat-ironed dead straight. “Get up, we need to have breakfast and then we need to leave.”
I groan, leaning back into the couch. “School.”
“Yes!” she hisses. “School! And by the way, if my snoring annoyed you so bad, you should have kicked me out. You didn’t have to sleep out here.”
“No!” I shake my head. “That wasn’t it. I just struggle to sleep with other people.” Not entirely a lie. I’m actually not the best sleeper when it comes to sleeping around other people. I get anxiety. Am I breathing too much? What if I accidently touch them in my sleep? Not in a sexual way, but yes, what if in a sexual way? I don’t do well with it. I’m much more comfortable sleeping on my own. Also, I don’t share covers. Ever.
Tatum rolls her eyes, sensing my lie, but not knowing what part or why. “Come on. Breakfast time.”
I push up off the couch. “I’ll be out in a second. I’m going to jump in the shower.” Climbing the stairs, I walk into my room and consider checking to see if Nate is in his room, but think better of it. Asshole. I don’t know what the hell that was about this morning. Do I want to know more? Yes, probably. But am I angry more than anything? Yes. I’ve also come to the conclusion—between my trip from the couch to my room—that they’re a seriously fucked up group of friends. Not only are they edgy, mysterious, and bossy, but they’re… alluring. Exactly why I must stay away from them at all cost. Especially Bishop Vincent fucking Hayes. Motherfucker kissed me! And… and I loved it.
Cursing at myself under my breath, I make a mental note to go shooting after school. Since it is Friday and no doubt Tatum will want to do something this weekend, it’ll be better if I get it out of the way early. I pull down some army green skinny pants and a white tank before slipping into the shower and rinsing off all of last night’s fuckery.
Massaging the conditioner into my hair and taking in the silence of Nate’s room, I’d say he didn’t come home last night. So much for “I have to look after you.” Lying ass. Stepping out of the shower, I pull down my towel and dry off quickly before getting dressed. Blowing out my hair, I brush on some light makeup, let my dark waves hang down my back, and then slip on my leather bangles plus the one my mom gave me before she passed. It’s a leather Pandora charm bracelet. We would get new charms for it for every defining moment in my life. According to Mom, even dying my hair was a defining moment, so yup, we had a charm for that too. Wiping away the condensation on the mirror, I scan my face, gliding the wand of my lip balm over my lips. I have an angular, sharp jaw, cherubic pouty lips, and hazel eyes. My eyelashes are long and thick and natural, and my skin holds a natural shimmer of gold in it from my mother’s Spanish heritage. I don’t think I’m bad to look at, but I’m not anything special either. Especially if you stand me next to someone like Tatum or Tillie.