Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“You mentioned her today. Who is she?”
She leans forward to peer through the windshield. “My pretend grandma. She’s ornery. I can’t get her to stay in a shelter, and…just hang on, let me go say hi.” She bolts out of the truck and dashes to the alley, disappearing.
I grab my phone. I’m with Anastasia. May not be home till late, I say into my cell, and it sends to the guys.
Crew sends, Dude. Glad you got her out. Donovan is trashed. He’s always been crazy about her. WTF happened?
Harvard happened. His parents happened. I happened.
Keep your dick under control, River, all two inches of it, Hollis replies with an eggplant emoji.
I smirk. Bigger than yours.
Yeah. They know I need a reminder when it comes to her.
I’m trying, I’m trying…
She’s been gone for several minutes, and I’m about to get out when she jogs back, opens the door, and settles into her seat, some of the tension gone from her face.
“She okay? Do we need to get her anything?”
“She’s good. Half-asleep. I brought her dinner earlier, but…”
“Yeah?”
She bites her lip. “I’m terrified she’s going to disappear.”
It dawns on me. How did I miss it? Donovan mentioned she hasn’t seen her parents in a year, and they left her periodically growing up…
People leave Anastasia.
“Crank the heat up, roll down the windows, and go really fast,” she murmurs.
I give her an incredulous look.
“What? I’m depressed and irrational. My boyfriend just broke up with me. He told the whole world what a pot-smoking slut I am—”
“You are not.”
“Whatever. You know what people will say. The truth is, I’m feeling crazy. I’m talking way more than I should. You’re lucky I’m not asking for cupcakes, ice cream, and a chick flick. Go with it. Please.”
I roll down the windows and turn up the heat.
I glance over at her, taking in the soft curve of her face.
This is just one night. I can be a…friend.
I pull out onto the street and gun it, and she laughs as she jerks her hair out of its updo. She puts her arm out the window, hands riding the airstream. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
It feels a little forced, her sadness lingering just under the surface, but I’m here.
With her.
Waiting.
Several hours later, we’ve hashed out The Outsiders to the point where I feel like I lived the damn story myself. I didn’t tell her how I had to take notes on every chapter or that I listened to the audio and watched the movie version. We discussed the themes as we drove down every backroad in Walker, Georgia.
We ended up in the neighboring county, got lost once and had to pull up Google, almost ran over a raccoon, stopped to let her pee in the woods, had a debate about cats versus dogs (she’s pro-cat and I’m not), discussed how freaky Santa and the Easter Bunny really are, touched on Twilight versus Vampire Dairies. I had no skin in that game, but she laid it out for me for about an hour. The girl can talk. A lot. She wasn’t an Edward fan. Team Jacob all the way. I hung on every word she uttered but made a mental note to never watch either.
“Romance—bah,” I said, and she pretended to be mad.
She showcased her British accent, which sucks, and I did my interpretation of Rhett Butler’s “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” (Mom’s favorite movie is Gone with the Wind.)
She begged for more.
“Bond. James Bond.”
She hooted.
“E.T. phone home,” I said in my best raspy alien voice.
“My precious,” was her Gollum from The Lord of the Rings.
“I’m the king of the world,” I shouted with my free hand out the window.
Then I looked at her and did, “Show me the money,” and she countered with “You had me at hello.”
She’s more random than I realized.
Maybe it’s the late night, maybe it’s her heart breaking.
“We have more than just The Outsiders in common,” I told her.
I see you, Rainbow.
We got quiet during the last hour, one of those easy silences where you don’t have to say anything at all. I don’t have a lot of those. I talk to keep the world turning, and sometimes my head never shuts off, but with her, it’s different. She stills the erratic side of me, and I’m not sure why that is.
Maybe I do, but…
It was me and her and the dark road.
Now we’re parked at Henning Park, a rundown place near campus with old swings, rusted monkey bars, and seesaws that are falling apart. I glance around. This place needs to be cleaned up, new equipment and a fence, some landscaping. The frat needs a new project, and this is perfect for the pledges.
“This place needs some love,” she says, and I glance at her, taking in the tangles in her hair, and smirk.