Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
What’s wrong with me?
Beauty products are my jam, but even those don’t hold my interest at the moment.
She says, “Why do you look like you lost your puppy?”
“Even if I am mad at him, I wouldn’t call Jackson a dog.” Sighing, I sound pathetic even to my ears. I miss the safety he provided me. Rad gets up and walks to the front door, momentarily distracting me. I welcome the diversion.
Cammie laughs lightly. “I know what you mean.” She leans forward. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Tealey joins us at the table and tops off my glass. “What are we talking about?”
“Jackson,” Cammie replies.
“Nothing,” I reply at the same time.
Our eyes dart from one to the other before Tealey says, “Okaaaaay.”
I felt like I was keeping things casual by drinking wine over here, but at this rate of awkward, I might need something stronger. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Jackson bursts through the front door as if he’s been cued, causing us all to jump. Tealey grabs the sweatshirt she’s wearing over her heart. “Jackson, you scared me.” I can’t say I fare much better.
“What the hell, man?” Cade gripes. “You gave me a fucking heart attack.”
Rad’s laughing and tossing popcorn in his mouth while Cammie angles sideways, reaching for her bowl like the show’s about to begin. I worry it is as well.
Jackson’s eyes land on me, and he says, “You forgot the queso.”
“Did you just think of that comeback?” I snark as I stand, crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t know what kind of stance I’m taking, but it feels like I need to do it standing since he is.
“We’re going to sort this shit out, Marlow. Now.” When I continue to glare at him, he adds, “Please.”
“Fine,” I say under my breath. “Only because you said please.” I move around the table and grab my purse, pulling the strap over my head. My lips are feeling parched. If Jackson and I are going to have this out, I need my lip gloss, and then I head toward the door. Besides the nicety of the please he offered me, we’ll have an audience if we stay here, and I’d rather not be their entertainment.
He tosses that bag of chips and queso to Rad just as I pass.
To Rad, I mutter, “Traitor.”
With the bag in his hand, Rad asks, “What did I do?”
After pointing two fingers at my eyes, I then redirect them to his. “I see what side you’re on. Unlocking the door for your best friend. Not very subtle.”
Chuckling, he moves to lean against a barstool. “It wouldn’t have been as fun if the door was locked.” I roll my eyes when I hear them high-fiving behind me. They’re mere boys when together and bring out the worst in each other. Rad’s a Wellington, for Pete’s sake. His family moniker carries prestige with it. He should act like it.
With all eyes on us, I pick up my pace and walk into the hallway. Behind me, I hear Rad ask, “Why are the chips crushed?”
I can’t help but giggle. Those chips and queso have been to hell and back between Jackson and me.
Digging into my purse, I find the gloss and lather it across my lips before I’ve crossed the threshold of the door. Dropping it safely into my bag, I move about ten feet away from the door and turn back with my arms crossed over my chest again. Jackson is closing the door when he looks up at me, and asks, “Would you like to start?”
“No. You go right ahead. After making that kind of entrance, I figure you must have plenty to get off your chest.”
He comes closer, and I already know I’m trapped unless I start down the stairs. I’m not scared of him, though, not physically at least. He does have a knack for messing with my emotions, but he hasn’t ever purposely wielded that power. That’s all on me and how I react to him. Right now is a prime example.
I’m utterly annoyed that I find him stupidly handsome, the kind of attractive that has me tempted to ask him, “Your place or mine?” The gentle wave of his hair holds as if he didn’t just barge through a door. He was wearing a coat inside, but now it’s just him, me, and that T-shirt that clings to him in all the right muscley places.
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sighs before shaking his head gently. “I don’t know what happened back at mine, but I didn’t like it.”
Tossing him a bone, I whisper, “Me either.”
Coming closer, he says, “Whatever you think, this hasn’t been about sex for me in months. Feelings have been mixed in for a long time now, but I’m just the only one to broach the subject.”