Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“Come to the country club on Sunday,” Prescott said to her. “A few of us are having brunch by the pool. Deidre always asks about you. She’d be so happy to see you.”
“I haven’t seen her in so long,” she said, glancing at the ground and back up at him.
“Come out with us,” he said, smiling as he tapped the tip of her nose.
“Maybe I will.” She smiled at him.
Fucking smiled. It looked real, too. I wondered what it felt like to have someone who didn’t smile often direct something that magnificent at you. I wanted to experience it, even if it was just once.
She patted Pres’ chest. “Well, I’m off, bitches.”
That was so unexpected that I laughed. She walked away from us, holding a peace sign over her head. She never looked at me to say goodbye. Technically, she had, since she’d said bitches, plural, but she didn’t look directly at me. I watched her, waiting for her to look at me as she wove through the crowd. Surely, she’d look back at me. They always did. She stopped walking for a moment when some douchebag bumped into her, and I waited. This was the perfect opportunity for her to look back. She never did. What the fuck?
“She’s. . .” Pres shook his head. “Something.”
“She’s antisocial.”
“This coming from the guy who leans against the wall and watches the party like we’re his peasants.” Pres raised an eyebrow.
I grunted. “Who is she anyway?”
“Lyla James Marichal.” He stuck his hands in his front pockets and rocked on his heels. “She used to be everyone’s wet dream in Olympia High School.”
Huh. I didn’t see it. Antisocial, wearing huge clothing, and giving clipped answers? She’d caught my attention, but no high school kid would salivate over that. I tossed my empty bottle in the recycling bin a couple of steps away and burped as I leaned against the wall again. Lyla James Marichal. Funny. We had the same middle name. I imagined myself telling her and could picture the blank stare she’d give me.
“Marichal. The former baseball player who’s mayor now?”
“Yep. That’s her father. He’s a legend around here.” Preston pressed his back against the wall. “Immigrant, pro athlete, self-made businessman, and now mayor.”
I nodded. I’d met him once, and he seemed nice enough. He was a major donor and heavily involved in all things sports at Fairview University. Because I never left our college bubble unless I was driving home, I didn’t rub shoulders with Fairview's elite. Most of us didn’t, but we’d heard crazy stories about the parties they threw. I’d been invited to Mayor Marichal’s house a few times for his annual sports gala and turned it down each time. It wasn’t my scene. Wearing fancy clothes and sitting at a table with a bunch of stuffy assholes wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time.
“Why was Lyla everyone’s wet dream?” I asked, going back to that topic. “I don’t see it.”
Pres raised an eyebrow. “She’s hot as fuck under those baggy clothes.”
“How do you know?” I stood straighter and turned to him.
“She didn’t always dress that way.”
“Did you two ever hook up?” I asked and frowned at my own question.
“No.” He chuckled, a low, almost defeated sound.
“Why is that funny?” I asked, “I thought she was everyone’s wet dream?”
“She was.”
“But, not yours?”
“Nah, she was mine too, for a time.” He shrugged. “Even if I’d tried something, she wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
That gave me pause. Prescott didn’t pull as many girls as I did, but he was pretty damn close. I had to be missing something. I had never asked this many questions about anyone. Certainly not a fucking girl. Definitely, not one I knew wasn’t down for my style of hookups. I needed to shut up. I was bored, though. I was bored, and we were just standing here anyway.
“I feel like I’m missing something,” I said aloud. “Weren’t you the most popular guy at your school?” I asked. “That’s what all the girls who went to your school say.”
“Yeah, I guess I was up there.”
“So…?”
“Lyles is different. She’s the kind of girl that you don't let go of if you get her, which is near impossible as it is.” He looked at me again, a serious expression on his face. “Ever.”
“Ah,” I nodded. “She’s the commitment type.”
“Her?” He laughed. “Hell no.”
I stared at him. I was definitely missing a lot of things here.
He smiled, shaking his head as if Lyla James Marichal committing to anything was a joke. If that was the case…
“She’s the girl you can’t let get away,” he explained.
I wanted to ask why but bit my tongue. I didn’t care about forever or letting someone get away. I’d already had one important person in my life abandon me. I sure as hell didn’t need another. If you don’t let them in, they can’t hurt you. It was simple.