Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
The phone was plucked from my fingers as he deposited it into his pocket.
“Remember our rules,” he said almost absently.
I blinked.
“Our rules are forfeit now,” I told him, holding my hand out for my phone. “You can’t try to enforce them now.”
Except he ignored my words, and moved so his arm was over the back of the booth, close, but not touching, the entire length of my shoulders.
I looked down at the wood grain of the table.
In fact, I looked at it so long and hard that I hadn’t realized there was a heady silence until Dean cleared his throat and stroked my shoulder to gain my attention.
I looked up at him in surprise and saw that he was staring at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked him, hoping he’d drop whatever he’d just asked.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Not at all.
My belly was fluttering, and my head was starting to ache.
Not to mention that my wound was starting to ache from movement I shouldn’t have been making.
“I asked you about your ten-year high school reunion,” he said. “Alexa made a comment about hers coming up in about a month, and I was just wondering if yours was soon as well.”
I shrugged.
“Yes,” I said, seriously not wanting to talk about that subject. “The last I heard it was two weeks away.”
“Why do you sound like you’re not going?” he asked curiously.
I shrugged and turned back to studying the table, wondering if the beautiful finished wood that was used for the table was something I could do myself.
Likely not.
I wasn’t very good at woodworking, as I’d found out yet again this morning.
I could do just about anything as long as it didn’t come to measurements.
Paint. Clean. Design. Demolish.
In fact, I’d found that I was good at demolishing. It was cathartic as hell to take out your frustrations on those unsuspecting walls, cabinets and doors.
“I asked you a question,” Dean poked me, breaking into my thoughts.
My eyes went up, and I raised my eyebrows at him in confusion.
“What question?” I narrowed my eyes.
He sighed and started looping his finger through a stray piece of hair that’d fallen out of my bun.
He stole the lock and lightly traced the outline of my tank top with the soft lock of hair, making goosebumps pop up over my skin as they followed the path Dean was taking.
“Mine is next year. Though it’s not my tenth. You go with me for mine, and I’ll go with you to yours,” he offered, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be accompanying me to these types of events like any normal couple that was in a relationship would.
Except we weren’t in a relationship, and we never would be again.
Not if I had anything to say about it.
“Looks like she doesn’t want you to go,” Alexa let a smile take over her face. “You can come to…”
I laughed.
“You have a deal!” I blurted.
I didn’t know what came over me.
Insanity, yes. But desperation as well.
I had to go to my reunion.
Freakin’ Wolf made me promise that I would.
I wasn’t sure why this was so important to him, but he’d asked me a month ago if I would be willing to go and get him some information on one of my old classmates.
Barrett Riley was a jock in high school. He was also a dick who was accused of raping a volleyball player after a football game, and I’d had the hots for him throughout my high school career, right up until he’d been accused of that.
He’d gotten out of it, and the girl had dropped the charges and moved out of state not long after. However, he was still remembered for that despite the fact that he wasn’t convicted of the crime.
Which had me curious as to why Wolf had wanted to know anything about Barrett Riley in the first place.
Wolf had been a couple of years ahead of me in school. He’d graduated and was in the Marines when the entire thing had gone down, but he’d heard about it through me. I used to send him a letter once a week, and during one of those letters, I’d explained what had happened to the star quarterback who had taken our small high school to the state finals two years in a row.
“You’ll have to be careful next week,” he said. “If you do any activities, it could aggravate your shoulder.”
I wasn’t sure what events he was talking about. I wasn’t anything in high school, and all of the activities they had planned for the reunion weekend I wasn’t planning on attending.
I hummed in understanding, slightly happy about the fact that he worried about me so much that he’d warn me to be careful.
“Ours is going to be in our old high school gymnasium,” I muttered before taking a sip of my ice water.