Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Her eyes drop to my bare legs. “Swallow your pride and start taking the help people offer you.”
She turns around and leaves my room. I stalk after her. Dad ambushes me in the hallway, blocking my way. He fills the space like a tank.
Why is every man in my life either a past footballer or a current one? I don’t deal with humans; I deal with industrial fridges. Mom hurries down the stairs while I scream at her that she is ruining my life. My entire adolescence I managed to dodge being a cliché only to get to this.
“Dad!” I growl, balling my fists. “What is this nonsense about Lev babysitting me?”
“I’m sorry our concern is an inconvenience to you, but you chose not to check into rehab, so we brought rehab to you.” He opens his arms in a game-show host manner, and I want to throttle him, I’m so on edge. “Congratulations.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re being a helicopter parent.”
“Bailey, baby, I’m a Boeing 777 parent and damn proud of it. I will destroy the world to keep my girls safe. Lev is not gonna take his eyes off you. Normally, that pisses me off. But nowadays, it’s a good thing. I trust him to look after you. End of discussion.”
He takes the stairs down. I’m bolting after him manically, barefoot and only wearing an oversized hoodie to hide my panties.
I come to a screeching halt when I get to the landing. Lev is already here, in gray sweatpants and a black muscle shirt, looking fifty shades of orgasmic. Seriously?
Muscle shirt and gray sweatpants?
I have to stop finding him attractive. And being mean to him for no reason. And wondering what the tip of his tongue would feel like if it flicked my clit.
He glares at his phone, refusing to acknowledge me. It’s been days since he came over with his boombox, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s not because he is giving me space but because he legit hates the new me. If he does, I can’t exactly blame him.
My parents wander off. Dad to the garage to start the car, Mom to grab her purse and phone. Welp, guess it’s showtime. And since I have no idea who I am anymore, acting should be easy.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” I amble over to him, tipping my chin up proudly.
Lev still doesn’t look up from his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. “Better to be a dragged cat than a drugged-up pussy.”
“Hmm. Babysitting the kid next door on a Friday night. Tell me you’re a loser without telling me you’re a loser.” I pout.
Lev smiles, lifting his eyes from his phone momentarily. “Aw, I like this game—how about a college dropout who needs a high school babysitter because her parents don’t trust her to stay sober?” He winks. “How far up is this on the loser-meter?”
Okay. That hurt. Like a crash between a semitrailer and an airplane.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” I moan. New Bailey is definitely not a resilient one. “Take that back,” I demand.
“Piss into a cup.” He yawns. “And I just might.”
Mom pops out of the living room, clutching her Birkin bag to her waist. “Have fun, you two. Mwah!” She kisses my cheeks. “Thank you so much, Levy.” She pats his buzzed head, and a violent urge to run my fingers through the fuzz takes over me. I want to know what it feels like too.
“Anytime, Mel.” He pecks her cheeks. Kiss ass.
The door closes behind us and we’re alone.
“I’m DoorDashing some pho.” He points at his phone.
“I hope you choke on it.” I smile, batting my eyelashes.
“On soup? Unlikely. I’ll order those shrimp rice roll thingies. With the peanut butter sauce. Those are a motherfucker to swallow.”
“Kindly evacuate yourself from my line of vision,” I grumble, trudging to the couch. I could go upstairs to my room, but this is my territory. I grab the remote with a huff.
A nasty smirk slashes his beautiful face. “Trust me, no part of me wants to be here any more than you do. I’m missing out on three parties right now. Unfortunately for both of us, I feel obligated to take care of you. Don’t mistake my high morals for affection.”
“High morals!” I splutter, aggressively punching remote buttons. “Is that what you call stringing Thalia along and asking your best friend to piss into a cup?”
“When have I ever asked Grim to piss into a cup?” he quips back.
One thing is for sure—Lev is no longer a fan of mine.
“You’re not funny,” I announce.
“And you’re not dressed.” He gets into my face, grabbing the remote from my hand. “Go upstairs and put some pants on. Until you piss into a cup, you’re not my best friend, the great Bailey Followhill.”