Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“Ah… Now? You want to go dancing now?”
Aleena isn’t the only one shocked by my motherly tone. She merely hides it better than Nikita. “You don’t want to go out? From the stories Mother shared, that is supposedly what you do every weekend.”
The sheer innocence in her eyes makes her words not sting as badly as the impact my body prepares for.
“Not every weekend… Just every second weekend,” I josh.
My joke sails straight over Aleena’s head. “Oh.” I wonder if she’s more like me than her outer shell portrays when she murmurs, “I must have gotten the dates mixed up.”
Her bloodshot eyes follow mine to my wrist when I check the time on my invisible watch. I don’t want to rain on her parade, but I would barely survive the creeps who come out this late at night, so I refuse to send my baby sister to the wolves unprepared.
“It is too late to go dancing now.” When disappointment is the first emotion she showcases, I talk faster. “But I heard rumors DJ Rourke was playing close by this weekend, so I was hopeful we could skip the blisters tonight to ensure we have plenty of gas left in the tank for his show on Saturday.”
“You have tickets to a DJ Rourke show?” My question doesn’t come from Aleena. It comes from a blonde wearing a bridesmaid sash on her left.
“Uh-huh,” I lie. It is only a temporary fib. I’ll sell a kidney for tickets if it keeps Aleena looking at me how she is now.
She’s grown up so much over the past three years. Her beauty is the perfect combination of sexy and cute. She had a more doll-like appearance on her eighteenth birthday, and the couple of pounds she’s added to her svelte frame makes the change-up even more noticeable.
She is so beautiful that I can’t help but admire her out loud.
“Do you really think so?” she asks, her voice almost a sob.
“Of course.” I back up my pledge with a brisk head bob. “You’ve always been the most beautiful sister. Everyone says it.”
“Because that’s what she told them to say.” It doesn’t take a genius to realize who she is referencing when she sneers “she.”
“Anything I ever say to you is because I believe it, Aleena.” I act as if I can’t feel the beady eyes of half a dozen co-riders on me. “It is Mother’s praise you need to be wary of. Okay?”
“Okay.” The shortness of her reply shouldn’t allow it to instigate so much heartache, but it does. It hurts like hell. “Though I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell her about this.” Her cheeks whiten as a confession spills from her lips. “I wasn’t meant to drink. But when I saw you entering the lobby, I got a little nervous, so I rushed back to my room for a nip of courage.”
“I think you had more than one nip.”
She grimaces before saying, “I think you are right.”
When she sways like a crunchy leaf on a deciduous tree at the end of fall, I band my arm around her waist and tug her into my side.
“Not just about how much I drank, but going out too. I don’t think we should go dancing. I don’t feel very well.” Aleena darts her eyes between Shevi and me. “Is this what drinking is meant to feel like?”
Before we can answer her, a burp almost knocks out the five remaining riders in the elevator. She perks back up while everyone around her goes green around the gills.
“Actually, I think I’m okay.”
When she stumbles out of the elevator on the top floor, I tighten my grip around her waist and then shoot my eyes to Nikita. She nods in agreement before I can utter a syllable and then helms our slow walk down the corridor to our room.
There’s no doubt the wetness in Aleena’s eyes is from sadness when she watches me pull an oversized college shirt out of the trash bag now housing my clothes. It isn’t designer like her clothes and shoes, and it is a stark reminder of how I survived my first two years without a home. Trash bags were once my blankets.
“The baggage handlers got a little dramatic with my luggage. It didn’t survive the flight.” When my reply pulls her lips a little higher on one side, I continue the honesty route I promised myself I wouldn’t start until after this weekend. “The good news is, I got a compensation check that will fund more than a new Frumpy Fran.”
“Frumpy Fran?” Since she is well past intoxicated, her words come out slurred. “You still have that?”
“Uh-huh.” A nod adds to my reply.
Frumpy Fran was what I called my gym bag during middle school. I can’t remember exactly how it started, but it was along the lines of my mother saying that I’d become frumpy if I didn’t increase my cardio from an hour a day to three.