Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
And I’m the king of sudden mood changes, so I can’t say shit about his.
“We’re stuck in my old room tonight,” I say, hefting up the bags I set down earlier.
I follow him up the stairs, and when we reach the top, I move around him and push my old bedroom door open with my foot.
“I hope you’re cool with race car beds,” I say.
And I wish I was kidding.
The thick, plastic headboard and footboard are a faded navy with red racing stripes. This was a birthday gift from my mom.
I used to love this bed, but it might be smaller than a twin.
Jake and I will have to sleep on top of each other to make this work.
Nice.
Speaking of…
Jake crowds me at my back and speaks over my shoulder. “What’s wrong with the bed I slept in before?”
“That’s where my dad passed out the other night. I wouldn’t touch that bed until I change the sheets.”
“So, why don’t we do that?”
What.
He’s not cool with sleeping super close to me all of a sudden?
“I don’t have any extra sheets and I’m out of detergent,” I snap, moving into the room when the heat of him at my back becomes irritating. “I used it all to wash away Dad’s shit. And I don’t really feel like running out to grab anymore tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
I drop the bags on the floor in front of the old dresser.
“Relax,” Jake says. “I was just asking.”
He tosses the duffel, and it lands on the bed.
“If you don’t want to sleep in here with me, you can sleep on the couch,” I offer.
And my smile is so fucking smug.
“Is that where you want me to sleep?” he asks.
“Is that what I just fucking said?”
Jake cocks a brow as he lowers the bag of peas from his face, then he (finally) takes a step into the room, which I’m sure is a great hardship for him, considering how much he obviously hates it in here, and before I know it, we’re chest to chest and he’s right in my face.
“I want to sleep with you,” he says quietly. Fiercely. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you’re on it with me.”
“And I want to sleep in here. Less room. More contact.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” I tip up my chin and softly press my mouth against his. “Asshole.”
“Prick.”
“You started it.”
“I didn’t start shit. I asked a question.”
“Yeah, and it was a real cunty question. Who bitches about a racecar bed.”
I clip his shoulder as I step around him to get to the door and out of this sucky room, but I halt not even a foot away when Jake grabs on to my arm.
I turn back, and our eyes lock.
“What’s your problem?” he asks, keeping his hold on me.
My chest heaves as I force my breath out of my nose. I close my eyes.
“Felix.”
“I need a meeting.”
When I look at Jake again, his face is so fucking soft and sad, and I hate myself a little more.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be. It’s fine.”
“We need to bring the rest of your stuff in, and then we need to go.”
“What’s got you on edge?”
“I don’t know. I think… I think it’s just today. I keep trying to say all the right things to you, and I know I’m not, and I hate that. I fucking hate it. And fuck my dad, man. He keeps ruining my life. We can’t even sleep in a normal-sized bed because of him.”
“Do you need to call Dean?”
A laugh catches in my throat. “Do you hate asking me that?”
“No.” His nostrils flare. “Yes.”
I smirk, then I shake my head. “No. He should be at the meeting. I’ll talk to him when we get there.”
Jake nods once and squeezes my arm before releasing me.
“You didn’t ask a cunty question. I didn’t mean that.”
“And you’re not saying the wrong things to me.”
My breath catches, and I really hope he isn’t just telling me that so I don’t give up and give in.
But it’s all I can think about doing.
MY BROTHER, THE HERO
JAKE
THE FIRST FIGHT I got into, I got my ass kicked.
I was twelve and skinny, but well-matched for Matt Cummings, and the little dickhead knew it. He brought back up with him to the field behind our school—two of his friends who didn’t even wait for me to swing on Matt before they jumped in and started pummeling me.
I got two black eyes and cried on the walk home.
Taking a basketball to the face in gym was the lie I gave as an explanation, and my parents believed it.
Why wouldn’t they? I wasn’t into sports.
Mom squeezed my hand and Dad told me to put ice on my face after dinner, and then the subject changed.
I thought I was off the hook, and I’d never have to share my embarrassment.