Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“What are you staring at, fucker?”
I blinked, surprised that anyone had noticed I’d been staring, only to turn to find the damn bird watching me.
“Is that a TikTok, too?” Finn asked. “Or did my big brother get caught staring by a bird?”
Greer turned to find me staring at the bird. The little tattletale. I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye and had to practically force myself not to make eye contact.
She’d for sure believe her damn bird.
I had a staring problem. So what?
• • •
“You don’t have to do this,” Greer said as she looked at the king-size bed.
“It’s the only one in the house, and I told you that I’d give it up. Let’s get these sheets on,” I grumbled to myself more than her.
I hadn’t thought she was serious about the king-size bed. But after an hour of her telling me that she was going to walk home if I didn’t take her myself, I’d admitted defeat.
“Fine,” she sighed when I stubbornly refused to give in, “but this is your fault.”
It was my fault.
I should’ve never allowed her to come to my house.
The thought of her in my bed set my teeth on edge, and I wasn’t really willing to admit why.
She pulled her sheets out of a protected bag that was in her suitcase, then unfolded said bag out onto the bed. From there, she reverently set aside her package with everything but the bottom sheet, then tossed me one end of the fabric.
The moment my hands touched it, I knew why she insisted the sheets come with her. They were badass and soft as hell.
“Is this satin?” I asked curiously.
“Silk,” she said. “It feels like you’re lying on butter when you get between the top sheet and the fitted sheet.”
I nodded my head, then hooked my side’s corners on and waited for her to do the same.
She did, then tossed me the end of the top sheet.
“I didn’t know anyone even used these anymore,” I murmured.
She made a sound in her throat, which caused me to glance up at her to see her smiling.
“What?” I asked.
“My dad insisted that we always have a top sheet on all of our beds. He watched some documentary about comforters once, and somehow he learned that the comforter is the dirtiest part of the bed. And he felt like having a top sheet was some sort of barrier between it and the body. Anyway, long story short, I’ve just grown accustomed to them. It reminds me of my dad when I pull the covers back every night. And that makes me happy,” she explained.
I felt my heart kick a jerk at that.
Yesterday, after Greer had headed outside, my sister had torn me a new one for not being understanding about Greer’s fear of motorcycles.
Honestly, I’d had no freakin’ idea that she’d been scared.
Would I have driven like an asshole if I had? Probably. Greer and I didn’t get along. I would do anything to get under her skin. But I might’ve been a little more cautious about the turns I’d taken. Possibly, I might’ve gone a bit closer to the speed limit, too.
“What happened to your dad?” I asked. “I’ve never heard Sara talk about him.”
She looked up at me sharply, as if she was surprised that I’d asked.
“Um, why?” she asked, sounding adorably confused. As if she couldn’t believe I was being nice to her.
My lips quirked up at the corners. “Because my sister said I made an ass out of myself yesterday when I drove you home. Because you’re ‘traumatized’ due to your father’s death. And I should be a little more understanding, and try not to antagonize you so much, because you’re delicate.”
She blinked repeatedly, her mouth opening and closing.
“I’m not delicate,” she snapped.
That delicate part had been my addition.
I liked that it was the one thing that she latched on to.
“Your dad?” I pushed.
She sighed, her fingers fidgeting with the pillow she had in her hand for a few seconds before placing it on the bed, then crossing her arms defensively over her chest.
Then her mouth opened, and she started telling me about her father.
Five minutes into the story, my stomach hurt.
“The mark where his intestines had wrapped around the guardrail was there for a year,” she said, her eyes far away as if she were seeing the horror all over again.
I remembered the area of the accident.
I’d heard about a bad motorcycle wreck, but I hadn’t put two and two together.
“Shit,” I finally said. “I’m sorry.”
Had I known, I definitely wouldn’t have driven so recklessly.
That was inexcusable.
“I’m a big girl,” she said. “And to be completely truthful, I’d have done the same thing to you had our roles been reversed.”
That didn’t make me feel even remotely better.
“Doesn’t change the fact that I should’ve been more…” I searched for the word to fit and came up empty.