Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“No, it’s not,” I say, even though I have plenty of reason to doubt Morgan was the one to blab.
“I don’t let a lot of people in,” Forsyth says, “and I really trusted Morgan until he pulled that. He’s still saying he didn’t have anything to do with it getting around, but he’s the only one who knew. And it’s just confusing. I figured I could trust him. So…I don’t know. Anyway, I guess this is more than what you thought you’d hear on the way to the Feed & Seed.”
“Yeah, that’s a tough one,” I say, considering how I could help bridge this gap without revealing what I know and why I know it.
“I think I could forgive him,” Forsyth says, “but I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for calling him a skyte.”
Forsyth warned me about the cult members when we first went to town together. “Dead-eyed, all-smiling drones,” he called them, and I quickly understood what he meant. Fortunately, they seem harmless enough, but from the way Morgan acts, I imagine that like with most of these cults, the real harm is done within the group.
“Guy grew up with assholes calling him that all around town,” Forsyth goes on. “That’s why I used the word. Just wanted to get to him like he got to me, but now he’s not talking to me. Like I’m the asshole. Just sucks because I really enjoyed the time we spent together.”
As he stares ahead, I see grief in his expression—the loss of someone he’s maybe just now realizing used to be his friend.
“Time is a good healer,” I say.
“You think that’s true?” His gaze shifts to me, as if he can detect the bullshit in my tone.
“Okay, maybe it’s not a healer, but things get easier. Just might take twenty or thirty years.”
He laughs. “Thanks for the real helpful pep talk,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Seriously, though. Thanks. I think for that, I might just give you a hot tip.”
“Hot tip?”
“I mean, I don’t know how serious you and Ryan are. I’m making some assumptions based on how far you had your tongue down his throat, but his birthday’s next week.”
“Birthday?” He hasn’t mentioned anything about it to me, but Ryan doesn’t seem like he would put much stock in his birthday.
“Yeah. The twenty-first. My ma’s is on the twenty-fifth, so it’s come up in the past. He and Simon do a dinner together every year, but I don’t know…a card or something might be nice. Just tell him I gave you the tip so I can get preferential treatment, okay?”
I laugh. “Will do.”
Having this special bit of information about Ryan is exciting.
What can I do to surprise my boyfriend?
23
RYAN
It’s just a day like any other.
Except it’s not.
As I finish stirring up the compost pile, I receive a text, and when I look, I’m not surprised it’s from Simon.
Tonight at 7:30, your attendance is expected in the dining room.
ME: Sorry. Got plans.
SIMON: See you then! Xoxo
I know there’s no getting out of this. And really, I don’t want to. Our birthday reminds me of happier times at Hawthorne Heights. Of sitting in the dining room with Father and Kieran as Simon and I blew out candles on the cake. They remind me of fun and laughter, and a time when I would’ve trusted Simon with my life.
All that’s as dead as Mother, Father, and Kieran now.
While I’m sorting the supplies Morgan and Forsyth have carelessly stacked around the shed, the door swings open and Jonas enters, sporting a grin. He’s been in a chipper mood all morning, since we woke up in each other’s arms—something I’m getting used to.
There’s dirt streaked across his forearms, the July heat has a thick film of sweat across his flesh, but this doesn’t dissuade him from attacking me with a kiss.
Tasting his salty lips, I breathe in his scent.
He must be in a particularly frisky mood because he hooks an arm around me and pulls me to the wall, pinning me back against it as his tongue invades my mouth.
I’m taking it as a birthday kiss. I haven’t told Jonas about today, but as tends to happen on my birthday, I tell myself I don’t want any happy birthdays or wishes, then find myself longing for them. But if I call this my birthday kiss, then that can be enough, especially when I have a birthday fuck to look forward to after enduring a meal with Simon.
As I wrap my arms around his back, I feel something in his hand.
Smooth-textured wrapping paper?
No way.
“What do you have in your hands?” I ask, unable to disguise the suspicion in my tone.
His grin broadens, making me wonder if that’s what it could be.
“Sorry, but Forsyth mentioned this to me last week, and I couldn’t help myself. I was gonna wait to share during our break, but I saw you come in here, so I ran back to the house and grabbed it.”