Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I don’t want you touching my stuff. Any of it. Hands off.”
She groans. “We have to be able to sit at the table, Banks.”
“Eat in bed. That’s what I do.”
She grips her arm rests like she’s a second from lurching forward and walking out.
This isn’t the hill I want to die on. I don’t even really want to be on this hill, but I’ve already started climbing it and scaling back down without hitting the peak would be more awkward than suffering through the rest of the adventure.
“Fine,” I say. “You can clean. But you can’t throw anything away.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I say again.
A slow smile spreads across her face, and she sinks back in her chair. “When do you want me to move in, roomie?”
I’m not sure whether to feel defeated or excited. Played or playing. Whether this is going to be hell … or heaven.
I shift in my seat in a futile attempt at relieving some of the energy coursing through my veins. “I’ll be home in an hour and a half.”
“Since I’m going to be there longer than a couple of days, I’m going to get a few more things from Sabrina’s.”
“Need help?” Shut up, Banks. Help yourself for once, and shut the hell up.
She grins softly. “No. But thanks.”
The irritation riddling me begins to disappear as I absorb the relief in her eyes.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” she says, standing.
“I’ll see you at home then?”
She smiles. “Yeah. I’ll see you at home.”
“Hey,” I say as she gets to the door. “I still need to clear the code from your car.”
She laughs and twists the knob. “We both know that’s not necessary.”
Then she winks and walks out.
Played. I just got played.
10
Sara
It’s so weird knocking on this door.
My knuckles rap against the purple-painted wood, a color I know my father would’ve hated. He let Sabrina do whatever she wanted, though, so he probably wouldn’t have said a word.
The modest two-story house has seen better days. A crack runs along the edge of the porch. It gets bigger and deeper every time I see it. The garage door is dented in a perfect line of symmetry to Sabrina’s car bumper and the hedges need trimmed as badly as my hair.
Dad would’ve had a meltdown at the sight of his castle in disarray. He kept things neat and tidy, a preference out of habit that hung around years after he left the Army. He was always so careful, so particular about everything in his life … except me.
I knock again, the sound echoing inside the house. I stand on the stoop like I didn’t live here for eighteen years—like this isn’t my childhood home.
“Coming,” Sabrina’s voice rings from the other side of the door. When she pulls it open, it squeaks. “Hey. What brings you by for the second time in one week?”
She lets me inside.
“My plans changed,” I tell her as she shuts the door behind me. “The rental I was getting is delayed, so I’m staying with a friend for a couple of weeks. I thought I’d grab a few more things from the garage, if you don’t mind.”
She leads me into the living room. “Of course, I don’t mind. It’s your stuff.”
“Thank you for letting me store my things here. I’m sure it's a bit of a headache to walk around, but I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no trouble. So how are things?” She sits on the sofa. “You were a little scrambled when you were here before.”
I sit in my father’s recliner. It smells of cigars and Old Spice, and I find it hard to breathe for a moment. “I’m better. Calmer.” I laugh to release some of the tension in my chest. “It’s been a bit of a mess the last couple of weeks, but things are starting to settle.”
“If we could come up with some ground rules … I do have an extra bedroom.”
A flood of warmth spreads through my veins as I recall Banks’s words.
When Maddox told me the rental wasn’t available, I panicked. There’s no feeling quite like not having a home and being at the mercy of your friends—especially friends who are newly married. I knew Maddox and Ashley didn’t want me there for an extended period. Why would they? And I knew I couldn’t wear out my welcome. But the fact that I had nowhere to go was embarrassing.
I’m too old for this shit. Shouldn’t twentysomethings have a permanent place to stay? I’m certain I should have a fat nest egg in the bank instead of walking the line of overdrawing it each month.
“You could always stay here, you know,” she says politely. “Your room is still upstairs. Granted, I’ve made it into a hobby room for Bethany. But we could always pull out an air mattress for you.”
Behind the words lie a caution not to take her up on the offer.