Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
I cover my nose and mouth with my hands on an inhale, the scent of the cherry-blossom hand lotion Jackson buys for me every year for my birthday, from some boutique in Paris. It calms me and I love it. It reminds me of him, and right now I need to be reminded of him. His strength, the way he believes in me, the way he encourages me no matter what.
“Fashion show!” Jeremy, one of the group from town earlier comes high-stepping into the kitchen with a bottle of some fancy scotch in his hand.
My stomach drops as what’s following him steals the breath from my lungs.
“N—no.” I stutter, slapping my hands over my eyes as they start to burn but then peak through my fingers.
NO, no, no, no…
First, it’s Reagan wearing the blue ruched satin evening gown that took me over twenty hours to hand stitch. I mean, satin is a nightmare on its own, but ruching it and stitching it all by hand? It’s next level stuff and I had it perfect.
Not only that. She’s carrying the Barbie with the exact matching outfit.
“Mina, you still playing with dolls?” she hisses, holding the Barbie next to her chest. “Look, we’re twins!”
Next, a stumbling girl I don’t recognize is wearing the skirt and vest separates from the collection, the hand stitching on the front seam pulling over her enormous boobs, and of course carrying the matching Barbie.
Watching is worse than getting a cavity drilled without Novocain, but I’m frozen as the final six looks from my collection are paraded through the living room in various states of destruction.
I pinch my lips together as someone turns up the music until it shakes the floor and the group dances and prances around wearing the most important work of my life while shooting videos and darn near knocking themselves out with how hilarious they think they are.
I can’t watch and I can’t seem to find the courage to stop it, so I do what I usually do. Retreat.
The blonde shoots me a somewhat sympathetic look. “Hey, you okay? You look—”
I grab the bottle of tequila from her hand and head outside, slumping down into a cushioned patio chair by the glimmering swimming pool, with a view across the lawn right down to the lake.
So. Much. Water.
And not just water. The worst kind of water.
Black water. Night water.
A shiver shakes my shoulders and being this close to the horror of the water shows how desperate I am to escape.
Being sandwiched between a pool and a lake is the stuff of nightmares. My water phobia started when I was a little kid, I’m not even sure what started it and no amount of aversion therapy or bribery has lessened the terror grip it has on me.
I have to psych myself up to shower every day and still, I never, ever put my face directly in the water for fear of drowning.
Dumb, sure.
But, for me, it’s real.
The pool at this house is half the size of the one at the old place and I fleetingly wonder why Allen, who loves impressing people, would have downsized to this smaller place on the ‘wrong’ side of Harbor Shores…
The thought doesn’t linger. I have bigger issues, like how to get these people out of the house and my life back into rule-following balance before my heart gives out.
I need one little swig of courage, then I’ll take care of this mess and never, ever break a rule again.
I press the bottle to my lips.
One drink and you’ll be breaking the law.
I grit my teeth. The never ending inner monologue about rules and doing everything just right have haunted me since I was a little girl as well. Maybe this once, for one split second, I’ll be Tina, Mina’s alter ego I daydreamed up a few years back. Rule breaker. Vixen. Carefree. Devil may care…
The kind of person who decides what she wants and takes it.
One drink, then I’ll make this whole disaster worth it and get that ride to New York…
One.
Two.
Thr--
“Lil’ mint.”
It’s Jackson’s voice in my head. Why couldn’t he be here right now?
I need you, Jackson. My big brother. My protector.
The tang of the liquor dances on the tip my tongue. God, it tastes revolting. But liquid courage they call it, right? One move, open my lips and—
“Lil’ mint.”
Jackson’s voice. Louder now.
Wait, that’s not in my head.
It’s here.
I spin, bottle forgotten. Like a gift from the gods, surrounded by a halo of light, he’s here.
“Jack—son?” I stutter, tears springing my lower lids, flinging the bottle onto the patch of grass to my left and all my dirty, lusty girl dreams of my stepbrother come flooding back.
“You okay there, lil’ mint?” he says, striding around from the walkway by the garage with that perfect swagger he has, wearing a gray suit and open white shirt, running his fingers through his hair, broad shoulders and thick arms I’ve dreamed of cuddling into thousands of times right here when I need them the most.