Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“I told you so.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Who else wants one?” she calls.
“Me, please.” Chloe holds out her glass. Taryn fills it and one for herself, then Carol too.
Loud, boisterous laughter comes bellowing through the front door as the boys arrive.
“Hello, my boys.” Carol kisses their cheeks as they walk in.
“Here she is, my favorite.” Blake smiles as he hugs her.
“Hello, sweetheart.” She smiles and holds his two cheeks in her hands as she stares up at his face. Henley and Antony follow behind, along with Winston.
Antony and Winston are overly boisterous; their cheeks are rosy, and it’s obvious they’ve already had a few too many beverages.
“I made us punch,” Taryn announces proudly. “Do you want some?”
Henley picks up a glass. “Sure do.”
Three hours later
We clap fast as we sing “Happy Birthday” at the top of our voices. Winston jumps up onto the couch and rips off his T-shirt, twirling it around like a lasso above his head as we all squeal in excitement.
My stomach is sore from laughing; this was just what I needed.
Such a fun night.
Eating, dancing, good friends, laughter, and I’ve come to a conclusion: there’s no way in hell that I can ever move out of this street.
I don’t know how, but I’m going to find a way to afford it . . . I have to.
Blake
Boom, boom, boom.
The pounding of my head wakes me, and I bring my two hands to my forehead to try and get some relief.
“Oh . . .” I screw up my face. “Ow . . .”
I open one eye and then the other. Wait . . . Where am I? My eyes flick around to see I’m in the spare bedroom of my house.
Why did I sleep in here?
I lean up onto my elbows and look around, confused. Wait, what?
I lie back down as I troll my brain for a memory. I was dancing . . . then . . .
That’s it.
What happened after that? I blink as I try my hardest to remember something.
Boom, boom, boom thumps my head.
Fuck, I need some Advil.
I drag myself out of bed and glance down at my naked body.
I see my jeans crumpled up on the floor and look around for my T-shirt or underwear; both are nowhere to be seen.
Huh?
I struggle to pull on my jeans and stumble down the hall to see that my bedroom door is closed.
Someone’s sleeping in there.
I quietly knock on the door. No answer. I tentatively push it open to see my bed is empty and still made from yesterday.
I screw up my face in question. What?
Hmm . . . that doesn’t make sense. Why would I sleep in the spare room if nobody was in my bed?
Weird.
I have no idea what’s going on around here.
I make my way downstairs as I search for a semblance of a memory. How on earth did I get so messed up?
Hazy visions of dancing on Carol’s couch float through my mind.
Wait . . .
I drag my hand down my face. Ugh . . . How was I so drunk? I fill a glass of water and go to the medicine cabinet. I pour some Advil into my hand and throw them into my mouth.
I wince as I feel them go all the way down.
Seriously, my headache is so bad. I’m probably having an aneurysm or some shit.
Bzzzzz buzz . . . buzz bzzzzz.
My phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, and the name Henley lights up the screen.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Are you alive?” his croaky voice whispers.
“Barely.” I close my eyes. “But I suspect the end is near.”
“Hell . . .”
“How did . . .” I frown. “I don’t even remember getting home.”
“Me neither. Jules said she found me asleep in our front garden when she got back from work.”
“What time was that?” I frown as I try to retrace our steps.
“I don’t know, midnight.”
“What were we drinking?”
“Taryn’s punch.”
“Hell.” I drag my hand through my hair. “How’s Deluca?”
“Not answering his phone.”
“Go check on him. He’s probably dead.”
“Based on the way I feel, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
My stomach rolls, and I dry retch over the sink. “This is a fucking code-red hangover.” I heave again. “What the hell was in that punch?”
“Who knows.”
Holding my stomach, I lean my behind against the kitchen counter and feel something dig into me from the back pocket of my jeans. I reach my hand in and pull something out. It’s a pale-blue flash drive.
I stare at it. “What the hell is this?”
“What are you talking about?” Henley replies.
“There’s a flash drive in the pocket of my jeans.”
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.” I walk to the hall and glance in the mirror, and my eyes widen in horror when I see my reflection.
There’s a giant love bite on my neck.
What the fuck?
I turn my head to the side as I stare at the dark-purple bruise. My mind begins to race. Who did this?