Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
My twin scans the area before her gaze resettles on me. “Where’s Delilah? I thought you two arrived together.”
I jerk my chin toward the house. “She went to use the bathroom. She’ll be back any minute.”
And then we’ll talk, because I won’t allow this bullshit with Jasper to linger in the air like a foul stench and ruin our evening.
With a tilt of her head, Summer scrutinizes my expression. Even though I haven’t said a word, she realizes something isn’t quite right. I feel her silently picking through my brain, searching for the truth. That’s the thing about my twin—she’s always had the uncanny ability to decipher my private thoughts. I’ve never been able to keep anything from her.
It’s almost a relief when Everly joins our trio along with a few guys from the football team. There are a couple of players that I get along with. Unfortunately, most are loyal to Jasper and follow his lead.
We shoot the shit about the game and the trip to Lake Michigan next weekend. It’s a school-sponsored activity for seniors. From all the stories I’ve heard, there won’t be any chaperones in attendance. The annual camping trip is a Hawthorne Prep tradition that dates back to the first graduating class.
Why in the hell these adults would think it’s a good idea to send a bunch of unsupervised kids to the beach for three days is beyond me. It’ll be mayhem and possibly murder.
I’m not looking forward to it.
All right…maybe that’s not a hundred percent true. I’m looking forward to having Delilah to myself.
Conversations swirl around me as I half listen to the plans that are being made. It’s only when I glance at my phone that I realize thirty minutes have slipped by and Delilah hasn’t returned from the bathroom. My gaze reluctantly arrows to the spot Jasper had been loitering. His friends are still there, talking and laughing, but he’s MIA.
How did I not notice that?
Fuck.
When I rise to my feet, Summer asks, “Are you taking off?”
“Nah, I’m gonna head inside and grab another beer.” Even though I rarely lie to my sister, I can’t bring myself to admit the truth. Summer doesn’t trust Delilah after everything that went down, and I get it.
If the situation were flipped, I’d feel the same. Hell, I still feel that way about Kingsley. Trust isn’t something that is freely handed over. It needs to be earned, and it’s going to take time for my twin to come around.
But she will.
Eventually.
When I say nothing more, her eyes narrow. Before she has the chance to interrogate me, I swing away and head for the door that leads inside. Even though she’s no longer in my line of sight, I feel the steeliness of her gaze boring into my back.
The party is even more jam packed than when we arrived over an hour ago. It becomes necessary to push and shove my way through the crush of bodies. Since I stand a few inches over six feet, I’m able to easily scan the raucous group.
Where the hell is she?
What’s taking so long?
It’s the question that eats away at me the most.
As much as I don’t want to believe the worst or that she’s duped me for a second time, the suspicions circling in the back of my brain refuse to be silenced. Each second that ticks by only reinforces them. It doesn’t escape me that the other person I haven’t caught sight of yet is her ex.
Or maybe he’s not her ex at all. Maybe this is some kind of twisted game they’ve unwittingly drawn me into. The idea that they might have snuck off together drives me fucking insane and has me wanting to tear Jasper apart limb by bloody limb.
A mixture of fury and distrust roils through me as I scan the kitchen, forcing my way through the press of bodies toward the hallway where the bathroom is located. Maybe the line is long, and she got stuck in the middle of it.
I ask a few people if they’ve seen Delilah. The question is met with bleary-eyed stares. After another five minutes, I pull out my phone and give her a call.
It goes straight to voicemail.
That only amps up my feelings of unease. My fingers fly over the miniature keyboard as I tap out a message.
Where are you?
I stare at the cell, willing her to answer as the party continues to rage, becoming rowdier by the minute. A couple of drunken idiots stumble into me. When I swing around and glare, they scurry off with a mumbled apology.
I fire off another message.
You need to answer me, Delilah.
Crickets.
To both texts.
My brows snap together when they go from being delivered to read. My breath gets clogged at the back of my throat as I wait for a response.
But one never comes.