Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
She leans down, planting her hands on my armrests. I turn away as she gets in my face.
“Then you’ll move on to a few dinners, where I will let him bring you home later and later and your dresses will get tighter and shorter, and then, finally, I will let you know when it’s time to let him seduce you, because he’s going to want a test-drive before he commits.”
I fold my lips between my teeth to keep my chin from shaking.
“You’re going to do what you have to, and you’re going to blow his mind, do you understand?”
I swallow hard. I refuse to give her a fight.
“Now, I’m not crazy,” she states. “I know I sound horrible, and when I was your age, I probably would’ve wanted to kill my mother for saying the things I’m saying to you, but that ‘follow your heart and persevere’ bullshit rarely works for most of us. You have to grow up and fuck people you don’t want to fuck, because there is one thing that’s worse on this planet, and that’s being poor. I guarantee, no matter how much you hate him, you’re going to hate Paisleigh growing up in the Vista View Apartments a lot more. We need you, do you understand?”
Fuck …
“You let Milo fuck you because you wanted a popular boyfriend.” She goes back to her bed and slips her feet into her heels. “May as well get some purses and shoes out of the next one.”
Every muscle in my body tightens as she disappears into the bathroom again, and I get that fantasy of shoving everything I can into a backpack and hitchhiking out of here flashing through my mind. Anywhere. Seattle. Montana. Alaska.
But I would never leave Paisleigh and Mars.
I don’t want my parents to die, but sometimes I have other fantasies that include them mysteriously disappearing. Prayers or running away aren’t going to save me, though. I’ll just have to figure a way out of this. I’m smart.
I leave her room, grab a quick shower, and change my clothes.
I can’t be here today. I need my dad.
If he would just pay her off and show up for his kids … He doesn’t even have to show up for me. I’m grown.
They need him, though. If he acted fairly, I might have options.
And the irony of that isn’t lost on me, either. Begging for one man to save me from another.
No. I’ll figure it out. I need to think. And not in church.
I jog downstairs and pick up a banana out of the fruit bowl. I wrap my arms around Paisleigh. “Wanna spend the day with me?”
She nods quickly.
I dig my wallet out of my backpack, grab the keys to my dad’s old car, and quickly sweep her into my arms.
“Just get her clothes and lunch ready for school tomorrow and then you can go, okay?” I tell Bateman.
He narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?” But he sounds a little excited by the prospect of an unexpected day off.
“Yes.” And I practically run with Paisleigh out the door before my mother comes downstairs.
I put my sister in the back seat of the Benz, strap her into the booster, and then unlock the top, putting it down on such a sunny day.
“Yay!” She giggles. “And turn up the music!”
“You got it, princess.” I start the car, my dad’s old cassette tape still in the player. Olivia Newton-John blasts over the speakers as we cruise to the only place I feel safe, shouting the lyrics as we cross the tracks.
3
Iron
I enter the house, tossing my keys into the dish next to the door. I grunt at the semi-hard-on still going in my jeans. I fucking swear she was doing that on purpose. Pressing into me, holding on to me so tight, breathing on my neck … I almost ran a red light, not paying attention.
Aracely stands in the living room, wiping down one of the end tables. She sees me, tosses down the cloth, and saunters up to me. The flyaways from her messy bun fan across her face, and her winged eyeliner makes her brown eyes look even sexier. She still kind of does it for me. Too bad she’s fucking crazy.
“Did you slash her tires?” I ask.
“Well, how else could you be the hero?” she coos. “Did she hold you nice and tight on the back of that bike like I used to do?”
And then she strokes the can of furniture polish in her hand exactly like she used to … stroke me.
I chuckle. I broke up with her when we were teenagers so I wouldn’t have to deal with her every day, yet here we are. “I used to think your antics were fun,” I tell her, “but then I turned eighteen and grew the fuck up.”