Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Despite what she thinks, I’m done with him. A girl can only ride that carousel so many times. As a matter of fact, I think I’m skipping the whole amusement park this year. Going on a boy hiatus. A dick detox. I’m a senior now. It’s been all fun and games, but now it’s time to get serious about my grades and landing a scholarship. Pretty good isn’t good enough if I want a shot at running division one track in college. And God knows an admissions rep isn’t interested in my keg-stand record or my all-star beer-pong titles. I need to focus this year.
Which means no more Duke.
No more sneaking out and partying with Silas and the boys.
No more doing the bare minimum in the classroom because I’m too impatient to get outside on the track.
I just turned eighteen. I’m basically an adult now—or at least I’m trying to be. And I can’t afford any distractions this year.
When we get home, the dogs bound through the door ahead of us, practically colliding at their water bowls.
“Girls?” Dad’s voice carries into the front hall from the kitchen.
Casey glances at me. “Uh-oh. What’s burning?”
We kick off our shoes and follow the acrid smell to the tendrils of smoke wafting from the oven. Dad’s standing over the stove with a pot on every burner.
“Potatoes might have gotten away from me,” he says ruefully. He catches Casey with a kiss on the cheek as she pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “You look a little pale, sweetheart. You feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.” Casey chugs some water. “Just hot out there.”
His attention snaps to me across the counter. “You shouldn’t push her so hard. Can’t expect her to keep up with your pace.”
I shrug. “She’s the one who wanted to race me back.”
“I had you.” Casey does a taunting little dance, her strawberry blonde ponytail swishing around.
“You had nothing. I could have beaten you running backwards.”
“Sloane. I expect you to be a little more thoughtful.” Dad gives me the sour face. He’s the only one with a problem, but somehow it’s my fault. “I don’t want to see anyone coming back here with heatstroke.”
By “anyone,” we both know he means Casey. Because she’s the baby. The fragile one who hasn’t been ruined and hardened beyond repair.
“Seriously, Dad.” Casey tries to intervene. “Relax. Someone’s gotta keep Sloane fresh for tryouts.”
“Come here and taste this.” He offers her a spoon, entirely dismissing her assurances.
In our father’s eyes, Casey is made of glass and I’m made of stone, and there’s nothing anyone can say to convince him otherwise. Even before Casey’s accident, he took for granted that I didn’t need coddling, that I’d always tough it out and be the strong one. Unfortunately, the pressure to always be “the strong one” is unbearable. I feel like I’m taking up all the slack, plus dealing with my own shit, while he resents every little show of vulnerability as some personal slight against him.
It’s not a sustainable status quo and I’m very near fed up.
Thankfully, college is just around the corner. One more year, and then I can finally put myself first. Get some distance from the constant scrutiny and find out what it feels like to be my own person again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and I don’t have to check it to know it’s Duke with another pathetic attempt to wear me down.
Not this time.
New year, new game plan.
No distractions. And absolutely no boys.
Chapter 3
RJ
“So you’re really leaving, huh?”
Julie tugs on a pair of boxer briefs that might have belonged to me at some point, then slips a loose T-shirt over her head. Her gaze remains locked with mine the entire time. She wants me to watch her get dressed. It’s her little way of putting some punctuation on it. On us.
“So I’m told.” Sitting on the edge of her bed, I pull my jeans on.
“Bummer.”
She hunts around the room for a lighter, then opens a mint tin to pull out a joint. She sparks one end and blows the embers before stomping them out on the hardwood floor. I’ve always liked the way she looks when she closes her eyes and inhales.
She blows the smoke out her open window and offers me a hit. As I take it, she bites her lip and sweeps her chocolate-brown eyes over my bare chest. Not even ten minutes ago, her tongue was traveling over every inch of this chest.
“I wasn’t totally bored of this arrangement yet,” she admits.
I exhale out the window. “All good things…”
Taking the joint from my lips, she comes to sit on the bed against the headboard while I find my shirt and put on my shoes.
“Yeah, okay,” she answers. “I know the brush-off when I hear it.”
“Whatever. We both know you’ll barely miss me.” She’s never been the emotional type and I don’t expect she’ll start now. She just likes giving me a hard time.