Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Evan finds me across the flames through the many shadowed faces. He nods for me to come meet him by the folding table and coolers, where they’ve practically got a whole liquor store stashed.
“Tell me something,” he says when I approach. “You get perks, right? Maybe swing a presidential suite with some room service? You and me spend a weekend naked, eating chocolate-covered strawberries in a hot tub?”
“I see Mac already told you.”
“Yep. Congratulations, Madam GM.” With an elaborate hand motion, Evan presents me with a red Blow Pop.
This asshole is damn sweet sometimes. I hate that he doesn’t have to try at all in order to turn my gut to giddy mush. That my nerves never dull to his dark, mischievous eyes and crooked smirk. He throws on any old T-shirt and a pair of jeans splattered with interior paint and plaster, and I get positively slutty.
“Now it feels real,” I say with a laugh. “This makes all the fretting worth it.”
My brother Billy wanders past us, throwing me the side-eye when he notices how close Evan and I are standing. I give a nod of assurance, making it clear it’s all good here, and he keeps walking.
“Let me fix you a drink. I’ve been working on something special.” Evan fills up a cup of ice from the cooler and starts assembling bottles of ingredients.
“I can’t.”
He waves off my hesitation. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
Words I never thought I’d hear come out of a Hartley’s mouth. Especially this one.
I watch as he caps the shaker and begins vigorously mixing the drink. “Honestly, I was debating not even coming tonight,” I confess.
A frown touches his lips. “Because of me?”
“No, because of this—” I gesture at the beer-filled coolers and table laden with booze. “On the drive over, I was trying to convince myself I could have a drink. Just one, you know, to take the edge off. But then, all these worst-case scenarios flashed through my head. One drink turns to two, and suddenly six drinks later, I wake up in a fire engine half submerged in the YMCA pool with the lights still flashing and a llama treading water.” And only half of that scenario is hypothetical.
Amused, he pours the drink into the cup of ice. “Gen. You’ve got to cut yourself some slack. This kind of hypervigilance isn’t sustainable. Trust me. If you don’t let yourself have a little fun now and then, you’re gonna end up burnt out or on a bender. Learn to embrace moderation.”
“You get that off a T-shirt?” I ask in amusement.
“Here.” He hands me the fruity concoction. “I’ll be your chaperone tonight. If you reach for a real drink, I’ll smack it out of your hand.”
“Is that right?” He must think I’m new here.
“I’m sober tonight,” Evan says without a hint of irony. “I plan to stay that way.”
Ordinarily, I might laugh in his face. A sober Hartley at a party is like a fish out of water. But taking a good look at him, I note that his eyes are clear and focused. Not a whiff of booze on his breath. Hell, he’s serious. If I didn’t know him, I might start believing he was sincere about being reformed.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Okay,” I say, accepting the drink. “But if I wake up on a stolen Jet Ski in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by Coast Guard cutters, you and me are gonna fight.”
“Cheers to that.” He hoists a bottle of water to clink with my plastic cup.
Turns out Evan can mix a decent virgin cocktail.
“Not for nothing,” he says hesitantly. “You know this ‘good girl’ mission doesn’t have to entirely change who you are, right?”
“What does that mean?” I’m somewhat taken aback. Not because Evan might be less than enthusiastic about this new lifestyle, but that there’s some genuine distress in his voice I haven’t heard before.
“I just think it’d be a shame if you let growing up dull your edges. I’m all for whatever makes you happy,” he qualifies. “You don’t need to be drinking for me to enjoy your company—you’ve always been fun no matter what. Lately, though, it seems like the real Gen is slipping away. Becoming a muted version of the incredible, terrifying, vibrant woman you used to be.”
“You say that like I’m dying.” I won’t lie—it hurts a little to hear that from him. The disappointment, the chord of loss. It’s like attending my own funeral.
His eyes drop, fingers running over the ridges of the bottle in his hand. “In a sense, maybe it feels that way. All I’m saying …” He lifts his attention again to me. A brief, wistful smile is quickly chased off by his typical irreverent grin. “Don’t go getting soft on me, Fred.”
I’ve always loved myself best in Evan’s eyes. The adoring way he looks at me: part impressed, a little intimidated. But more so, the person he thinks I am. The way he tells it, I’m invincible. Thunder and lightning. Not much scares me, and even less when he’s around.