Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Her first words take the wind out of my sails completely and I feel my anger drain away, replaced with something altogether different. In fact, no, it isn’t all that different. It’s still anger, a deep burning anger, but it isn’t focused on Ashley. It is focused on the bastard who thought throwing a kid onto the streets was okay. Anger for the girl whose life had been ruined because of a shitty father who had let his temper get the better of him.
Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself wrapping my arms around Ashley.
She goes stiff in my arms for a moment, then she sags against me and lets me hold her.
“Hell, Ashley, I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “I had no idea.”
Suddenly, she pushes away from me, back in control of herself again. “No, you didn’t. And that’s what I mean, Finn. We’re just too different to do this.”
“No, we’re not,” I argue. “Our passions lay in different places, but we both feel that fire. We can do this. We are doing this, Ashley. You’ve already signed the contract, and I’ll fucking carry you over my shoulder down the aisle if I have to. We can reschedule today, but that’s it.”
She exhales heavily.
“Don’t you want to have the resources to help more girls like the one from this morning?” I ask.
She gets the message loud and clear. If she doesn’t do this, she won’t have the resources to help people like that girl. “Alright. Let’s just get it over with,” she finishes sullenly, then gets in the car.
I slide in too and pull away before she changes her mind. I check my watch. “We’re meeting my mom for tea instead. We have about half-an-hour.”
She leans back against the seat and closes her eyes.
“What were you planning on doing if the door hadn’t been locked?” I ask Ashley, glancing over at her in the passenger seat.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I didn’t think about what I was doing, I just heard that girl’s story and I snapped.”
“You could have gotten hurt,” I say.
“Not as hurt as she is,” she replies, turning to look at me.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she replies. “He’ll drop any charges, because if he doesn’t, then the reason I was there comes out. Don’t worry though, I’ll pay you back the bail money.”
I wave away her offer. “Don’t worry about it. Call it my good deed for the day. Speaking of which, the first check is in the glove compartment.”
Ashley opens the glove compartment and takes it out. She runs her fingers over it, then she promptly pushes it into her hand bag.
“You need to change,” I say. “And there’s no time to go to your place. I picked something up for you. You’ll have to change in the car.”
“No way.” She shakes her head. She’s saying it before I even finish my sentence. “If you think I’m clambering around in here changing, then you’re very much mistaken.”
“It’s a dress, Ashley. It really won’t be that hard,” I say.
“Ok, then let me rephrase it. I’m not getting changed in front of you,” she snaps.
“Really, you can. You have absolutely no worries about your body turning me on.” I thought to put her at ease, but I see instantly it has the opposite effect.
She turns towards me, her face full of thunder. “I think we’ve established that you don’t find me attractive. And I can do without you reminding me of that fact every two minutes. I’m not changing in front of you because I have a bit of self-respect, not because I’m assuming you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”
“I just meant…” I start then I sigh. “Oh, forget it. I’ll find a service station somewhere and you can go into the restroom there.”
“You know what Finn? I’m perfectly comfortable how I am,” she asserts. “Just drive to your mother’s place.”
I subtly look at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s wearing black trousers which aren’t too bad, although they aren’t the best fit. Her blouse is a problem though. It is shapeless and very crumpled. And her shoes. My God, her shoes. They look like something a grandmother would consider the height of fashion, sensible, flat black lace ups complete with her signature ridiculously big bow. To be honest, right now, I don’t care if she is dressed in a sack, but I know my mom will care. A bad first impression with my mom lasts a lifetime.
I know if I point out that her outfit is hideous, it will only make her dig her heels in so I try a different approach. “My mother will be dressed up and you are her guest. You’ll feel out of place,” I say.
“Don’t sit there and try to tell me how I’ll feel,” she snaps. “I’ve told you I feel perfectly comfortable how I am. Why don’t you just be honest and admit you’ll be ashamed of me.”