Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
She steps out of the apartment in nothing but an oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder barely long enough to cover the tops of her thighs. She caresses her favorite pink feather boa over her shoulders, her eyebrows lifted halfway up her forehead, her lips pouting with curiosity as she tilts her head, awaiting Mr. Joy’s attempt at an answer.
He finally manages to say, “Just forget it. I have earplugs. I can just use my … I can … put them in my … stuff my … inside of my …”
“You want to stuff your what? Into where?” asks Juni in the most excruciatingly innocent voice.
Mr. Joy lets out the strangest wheeze that reminds me of a balloon having its last breath of life squeezed out of it by an angry child. “Goodnight,” he finally squeaks before disappearing into his apartment, and that’s the last I think we’ll hear from him.
Juni sighs. “Why do men always run away from me?”
I look at her. “The heck are you wearing? He probably thinks you’re a teenager throwing a sleepover and it gave him a coronary seein’ you like that. Do you know his ex-wife runs the high school drama department and suspected he was cheating on her with one of her former students? Huge thing last year. Everyone was—”
“Now who’s the gossip?” sasses Juni, cutting me off.
I frown. “It’s not the same as—”
“All I want is a nice and decent man. That’s fair, isn’t it? A nice and decent man. With muscles. And a job.”
“Sounds like Mr. Joy’s outta luck.”
“Job’s optional,” she decides, changing her mind. “I could be someone’s sugar mama. I don’t mind, really. Someone can gold-dig me. I’d probably let them.” She crouches by my chair and hugs her knees. “Everything smells like poop out here.”
“When the wind blows right, we’re all reminded that we’re surrounded on all sides by farms.”
“Were the hunky military guys there at the thing?”
“Huh? Oh, them.” She’s talking about dinner tonight at Trey and Cody’s. “Is that all you care about? Hunky military guys?” I shoot her a look. “What’s going on with you lately? You horny?”
“Literally always.”
I hand my bag of Doritos off to her. She takes it distractedly and starts munching away. “Yes,” I finally answer, slouching back in my chair and causing it to creak, “they were there.”
She fishes for a chip. “And the one who—” Chomp. “—came up to the—” Chomp. “—jukebox that one night?”
I sigh. “Yep.”
“I wish I was invited. I’d love to—” Chomp. “—get to know them more personally.”
I can only imagine how differently tonight might’ve gone had Juni been there. I got the fast impression that Pete was a horn dog himself. He probably would’ve been so distracted by her presence, same as Mr. Joy was, or any hot-blooded man. There never would have been a chance for a weird moment between him and Cody.
“Should we go to the Saloon tonight?” she asks.
“It isn’t even the weekend.”
“Never stopped us before. The dance floor is so empty, too, which is nice, because then I can dance bigger … or something.”
“But it’s way outta town.” I make a face. “Always smells like cat pee there, too.”
“I have a new dress I wanna try on. We can put the cute red-tongue-smiley-face stickers on our butts again.”
“I gotta work tomorrow, door-to-door sales thing for my dad. He thinks I’m pissing my life away. Gotta prove him wrong.”
“I sure could use some stress relief,” she says, and with each word, her clutch on the Doritos bag tightens, crinkling it worse.
Obviously I need to relieve stress, too. Stress caused by Bridger getting up in my face. By him holding me tightly. My heart playing a full damned drum set inside my chest.
“I noticed this weird thing about myself lately,” murmurs Juni, lowering the bag. “Whenever I get a nice thing in my life, I always get scared of it and bat it away.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to trust nice things when all you’ve ever known is not nice things. Know what I mean?”
I glance at her. “So why do you trust me?”
She peers back. “Because you’re not nice.” She smiles cutely, then digs in for another chip.
Only she can say something like that and make it sound like a compliment.
Maybe it is a compliment.
I wonder if Bridger is drawn to me because I’m not nice.
Or because there’s something about broken people that makes us stumble toward each other even if we drive each other crazy.
Is Bridger a broken person, too, and just better at hiding it?
“I really wanna try that dress on,” she moans sulkily. “Really, really, really wanna try it on.”
I can picture him standing right there in the gravel in front of me, arms folded, shaking his head disapprovingly. You shouldn’t go out tonight, he’d tell me with all his cocky wisdom and stick-up-his-ass authority. You got work to do tomorrow, and remember how I asked you to hang out with me? What if you change your mind? You’ll regret it. He clicks his tongue, shaking his handsome head.