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)
I wash down the thought with another generous sip of my faux cocktail. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
There’s got to be a way to do both. Straighten out my more destructive tendencies without lobotomizing myself. Somewhere in the world are respectable, functioning adults who’ve staved off blandness.
Because Evan isn’t alone in his concern. I’ve felt the slow slipping of self too, the image in the mirror becoming less familiar with time. Every morning waking as one person. The day spent tearing myself out and up, clawing through layers like breaking free of my own skin. And I hit my pillow each night as someone else entirely. At some point, I better settle on a persona before I’m not me at all, but another discarded husk on the floor.
“Tell you what,” Evan says. “No more serious talk. I’ve missed the hell out of us. And you deserve to celebrate. So trust me to stop you from falling into old habits, but …” His voice roughens. “Not all habits are bad. For tonight, let’s just say to hell with it and have a good time.”
In other words, let’s pretend it’s the old days and we’re still together. No more rules and boundaries. Feel the moment and let our instincts move us.
It’s an attractive offer. And maybe he’s caught me in just the right mood to accept.
“Temping …” I trail off.
“Oh, come on.” He throws his arm over my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Famous last words.”
Evan shrugs, hauling me toward the music and dancing couples. “There are worse ways to go.”
For a few hours, we are ether. Evan doesn’t dance so much as stand there peeling my clothes off with his eyes. I lose my half-empty drink somewhere in the beat. I’m high on sensation. Fabric sticking to my body in the humidity. Sweat down my neck. His hands finding bare skin across my stomach, my shoulders. Lips pressed against my hair, my cheek, under my jaw until they meet my own. Kissing like everyone is watching. Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hiking my knee up his leg until I remember where we are.
It’s the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in a long time, and all we do is everything we’ve ever done. Laughing with our friends and kicking up sand. Nothing on fire but the burning logs in the pit, and the only flashing lights coming from the flames and cell phone cameras. Lumberjack Jimmy has trotted out his ax-throwing target, and everyone’s placing bets as we take turns hurling sharp edges at the upright wooden board. At first glance the concept of mixing medieval weaponry and alcohol might appear like a recipe for a noisy ride to the emergency room, but so far, egos have taken the worst damage tonight.
“You should have a go,” I urge Evan. Seeing as he’s dead sober, no one’s got him beat for aim.
With his arm around my waist as we watch another matchup, Evan strokes his thumb under the hem of my shirt. The seductive touch gets me dizzier than anything from a bottle. “What’ll you give me if I win? And feel free to be as lewd as you’d like.”
“My respect and admiration,” I deadpan, to his utter dejection.
“Mmm-hmm, that’s just as good as a blowjob.”
When Jimmy asks who’s going next, Evan steps up to the lane to take an ax in hand. Someone grabs Cooper to get a load of this, and the mass of interested spectators swells. They give him a wide berth, though. Because Evan Hartley with an ax is about as close to death as anyone gets with air in their lungs.
Until the sharp, shrill wail of a siren spooks the crowd. The music cuts out abruptly. Firelight reveals a cop trudging through the sand. He barks orders into a bullhorn, sending those of questionable parole status scattering into the darkness.
“Party’s over,” he announces. “You have three minutes to clear the premises or be subject to arrest.”
For a split second, I hold out some faint hope it’s Harrison having a laugh. But then the cop’s face is revealed from the shadows.
Deputy Randall.
Of course.
Evan jerks his head at Cooper. Still gripping the ax, Evan struts up to Randall with his brother, shrugging off my weak attempt to stop him. I’m already feeling my pocket for my keys and wondering if Mac will understand when I have to miss a few days of work to skip town and drive Evan over the border.
As if sharing my prophetic vision, Mac comes up to take my arm as we follow our men to the confrontation.
“What’s the deal?” Cooper asks, doing his best to control the deep streak of Hartley contempt for law enforcement from seeping into his voice.
“Everyone’s got to go,” Randall informs the entire crowd.