Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“It’s Balen-SEE-aga, not CHEE-aga,” Harlow mutters as she jams the “close door” button until the doors glide shut. “It’s Spanish, not Italian. If you’re going to dump that much money on a bag, you ought to at least be able to pronounce the designer’s name correctly.”
“You tell ’em, Lo,” Evie mutters against my shoulder, where her head is once again resting heavily.
Harlow props her hands on her hips. “I told you to stop several drinks ago, Slimer,” she says, the reference to the barfing ghost hitting me hard after what we just experienced.
“I’m sorry,” Evie says, her voice small. “I was trying to drown the sad knot in my stomach, but it didn’t work. I can’t believe they’re engaged, Harlow! It’s only been three weeks! He dumped me, forgot me, found a new partner, fell in love, and proposed in three weeks!”
“I seriously doubt that’s what happened, sweetie,” Harlow says as the elevator arrives on the first floor. When the doors part, she extends an arm to keep them open as I step through with Evie.
“What do you mean?” Evie asks.
“We’ll talk about it later, love,” Harlow says, casting me a hard look. “When we’re alone.”
I clear my throat. “I figured I’d come along in the cab, help you guys get her up to your place.”
Harlow waves a breezy hand as we step out onto the sidewalk where their friends, Cameron and Jess—both of whom I remember dimly from when they were all in middle school, hanging out at the ice rink on free skate afternoons—are waiting next to an SUV with an impatient-looking older man behind the wheel. “It’s fine. Cameron’s big and strong, right, Cameron? You can carry Evie up the stairs to the apartment.”
Cameron, who is now a couple inches taller than my six foot two, nods. “Totally. But thanks, man. I appreciate your help.”
“I don’t need to be carried,” Evie says as I set her down beside the car waiting at the curb. “Oh God, not again.” She bends over, dry heaving into the gutter.
“No way, not gonna happen,” the man behind the wheel says. “No pukers. I don’t get paid enough for that shit, and you young people never tip.”
“I tip all the time,” Harlow shoots back. “And she’s not going to be sick. See, she’s just…convulsing. Not actively—”
“I’ll get her home,” I assure them. “I’ll get her sobered up and—”
“Nope,” Harlow cuts in. “Not going to happen. We don’t leave fallen soldiers on the field of battle. Evie’s coming with us.”
“Not in my vehicle she isn’t,” the older man says, reaching for the gear shift on the wheel, clearly intending to bail.
“Five hundred bucks. Cash,” I say, reaching for my wallet in my back pocket as I help Cameron hold Evie upright with the other. “It’s yours to keep, no matter what happens on the ride. And we’ll do our best to keep her from being sick in the car. I’ll catch it in my hands or something if I have to.”
“See, Harlow, he isn’t Hitler,” Evie says. “He’s the nicest and the best.” Evie lifts bleary green eyes to mine. “I’m sorry I’m gross right now, Ian. Please don’t tell Derrick, okay? You know how he freaks out.”
Harlow huffs as she reaches past Evie, snatching the bills from my hand and passing them over to the driver. “Fine, you can come with us, but you have to leave as soon as we get Evie upstairs.”
“Okay, fine,” I say, but I have no intention of leaving until I know Evie’s okay and doesn’t need to be taken to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning.
Her friends may not believe in leaving “fallen soldiers” behind but I don’t believe in trusting the health and safety of my nearest and dearest to other people. Evie may have been out of my orbit for most of the past four years, but she’s back in it now, which means she’s back under my protection.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at a five-story walk-up in the West Village and I learn these lunatics live on the fifth floor. By the time Cameron and I drag a still groggy, but no longer gagging, Evie up the stairs between us, we’re both covered in sweat and smell like whatever repulsive meat-and-onion dish their downstairs neighbor is whipping up for supper.
“Okay, I’ll take it from here,” Harlow says, ushering Evie into the bathroom off the combination living room and kitchen. She casts me a pointed look. “Goodbye, Ian. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
She slams the bathroom door, leaving Cameron and I standing in the buzzing silence in the living room as Jess hurries into what I assume is Evie’s room to fetch her fresh clothes.
“I’m sorry,” Cameron says softly, dragging a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I don’t know why she hates you. I know why she hates Derrick. Sort of. We all hate Derrick a little, except Evie, but you…I don’t get.”