Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
A disco ball twirls above the center of the rink. Spotlights of blue, pink, and green sweep up, down, and around as people on skates and rollerblades coast around the oval track, or through the tables on their way to the bathroom or concession stand. Fifty pairs of wheels hit the floor, and the scent of cheap slices of pizza fill the air.
I spot Aro and Quinn already getting their skates, and I lock my gaze on one woman rolling around the bend of the rink. She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it over the wall, skating in her bra.
I go still. Searching the room, I don’t see any kids in here. Like little kids. It’s all teenagers. Young adults. Some of them look a little older, though. Some of the women especially. Short skirts. Revealing shorts. Lingerie tops.
I look at Farrow, wide-eyed. “Where did you find these people?”
“Strip club.”
Holy shit. I knew all that money didn’t go to fireworks. When I said I wanted girls, he just went for it, didn’t he?
“I feel overdressed,” I mumble.
“Oh, they’re about to not be dressed at all.”
My face falls. “Farrow.”
He just laughs and pulls me along. He lifts me under my arms and plops me down on the high counter, and I stare down at him as he removes my sneakers.
An older man in a faded, blue polo approaches, racks of skates rising behind him, but he doesn’t have a chance to speak before Farrow orders, “Size eight.”
The guy nods once and shoots off, searching for my size.
I lean back on my hands a little, looking down at Farrow Kelly on one knee at my feet. I could make a joke.
But I won’t. He’s the only Rebel who’s been consistently kind to me today, and that includes Hunter.
I sit still, keeping my eyes lowered and trying not to look for him as Farrow turns in my sneakers and takes the skates that appear on the counter.
Is Hunter here?
I feel him.
But I feel like they’re all watching me, and maybe my senses are just hyperaware.
I bend my knee, slipping my foot into the skate that sits on Farrow’s thigh, and he gets busy, lacing me up.
Unable to stop myself, I look up and scan the room. Aro and Quinn step onto the rink. Mace, Coral, Arlet, and a few others talk closely at a table, Mace’s eyes darting up to me.
No Hunter.
Pulling up my camera, I snap a picture of Farrow putting on my skates. I type up my post.
A Pirate’s Life for Me.
But then I delete the caption and just say Ditch Day B-day.
I don’t post the location. It won’t be hard for the Pirates to figure it out.
Farrow puts on my other skate. “Will the Pirates come?”
I shrug. “I don’t care.”
“They’d be stupid to.”
Yes, but the Pirates have let enough slide this week. Maybe they were waiting until after their game against St. Matthew’s tomorrow night. I don’t know, but…
“I think they’ll engage in some way,” I warn him.
He finishes lacing me up and gives my skate a little slap. “Good.”
I look down at him, and he looks up at me, and I don’t know what it is about him, but he always feels familiar. He has a bad reputation, and I don’t know if he’s just playing the long game with me, but so far, he hasn’t lived up to it. I’m happy about that.
“Why do you care about this rivalry?” I ask him, staying on the counter. “What do you get out of all of this?”
“Practice.”
“For what?”
He falls silent but holds my gaze.
I grin. “Come on, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A last resort.”
A smile taunts the corner of his mouth, and I laugh quietly.
I like that. A last resort is scary. It’s the path no one wants to take, but it is a path you can count on when everything else has failed you.
Hunter always gave weird answers to that question too.
“I can see why you and Hunter get along,” I muse but then add. “You can’t hurt Kade, though, okay?”
This rivalry is fun, but it almost always turns bad. And if the legend is true, at least one person has died because of it. I eye the tattoo on Farrow’s neck, and he wouldn’t have gotten that without earning it.
“I won’t kill him,” he retorts, his tone nonchalant. “I might make him cry a little, but…I would never hurt him.”
I’m glad to hear it, but he worded that strangely.
He sighs and rises to his feet. “Quinn is fucking hot.” He looks over his shoulder, toward the rink. “You think she’ll sit on me?”
I burst out in a laugh. Idiot.
Jumping off the counter, I roll away, wobbly and throwing out my arms to keep my balance.
Grabbing onto the wall next to the entrance to the rink, I lean in, hanging on.