Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I looked good.
Tired, but good.
My mom had helped me take a shower this morning. My face, though a little white due to the stress and blood loss, was getting its color back. My arm was in a sling under a sweatshirt of my brother’s that was two sizes too big for me, and I was wearing a pair of my mom’s most expensive LuLaRoe workout leggings that she’d probably never be getting back.
To top it all off, my hair was a wet mess down my back.
That’d been the one thing she’d forgotten about. My hair.
So instead of being dry thanks to a blow dryer, it was freezing cold and sticking to my neck and hanging down my back.
My hair was about two inches shy of being to my butt crack, and it was incredibly easy to take care of. As long as you dried it.
When you let it loose to dry, it always resembled a bit of a wavy, scraggly nest of rats that Adam liked to call ‘scarecrow straw.’
He’d been calling it that since we were young, and to avoid that moniker during my formative years, I’d done everything in my power to make sure that my hair was dried properly.
Today, I didn’t get that choice.
“Baby,” my dad barked. “Your ride is here, and your discharge papers are on the table.”
I came out of the bathroom and saw that Laric had been right. He’d made it in about five minutes. He must’ve gotten lucky with the lights, and ridden a little bit faster than he should have.
“Sir, do you have her car here still?” Laric asked my dad.
Dad, who had one foot out the door already, cursed. “Fuck. No. I took it home.”
He looked pained. “And I rode my fuckin’ bike.”
Meaning, there was no way for me to get home unless I wanted to hitch a ride from someone else.
“I’ll call one of the boys,” Dad said as he reached for his phone.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll ride on Laric’s bike…” I trailed off and looked at Laric. “If that’s okay?”
He looked torn. “As much as I wouldn’t mind having you on my bike, there’s no way that’ll work. Not when you have that.” He gestured to my shoulder that was covered up. “It’ll be near impossible to hold on.”
“You can drive nicely,” I pleaded. “I don’t have to hold on if you do that.”
“Has a point,” Jack said. “Girl’s been riding on the back of my motorcycle since she was old enough to hang on properly.” He studied me as he said, “If she thinks she can do it, she can.”
“The pain is more manageable today,” I lied. “It’s not so bad right now, and as long as I keep myself topped on the pain killers, which we need to pick up on the way home, by the way, then I should be perfectly fine.”
So that was how I found myself standing next to Laric’s motorcycle twenty minutes later.
“That’s sweet,” I pointed to a set of lips that were kissed onto Laric’s back fender.
“Uhhh...” He hesitated. “Actually, no. That was put there by a chick that couldn’t accept that I didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. I had it painted into the bike after I cleaned the lip stick residue off. It says, ‘you can kiss my ass’ underneath the bike seat.”
I started to laugh. “That’s bad.”
He shrugged. “It was bad that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Been single ever since she left and didn’t realize that she practically suffocated me when we were together.” He tilted his head. “Story for another time, though. I want to get your medication in my possession and get you to the house before you realize that you’re more sore than you think.”
So that was exactly what we did.
Only, my wet hair was still a problem.
“Before we go, I need to put this up.” I paused, looking at the hair tie in my hand, then at the chest where my hair was a complete and utter mess and soaking my sweatshirt.
Laric walked up behind me and stared at me for a few long seconds before saying, “Let me.”
“It’s gotta be good,” I warned him. “I don’t want to be slapped in the face with my own hair while we’re riding.” I paused. “There was this one time I had a laceration on my eyeball from that very thing. Now I’m kind of freaked out about that happening again.”
Laric reached for my hair. “Got a brush?”
I gestured toward the bag that was sitting on the ground next to his bike. “There. I packed light. Left everything else with my dad when you were talking to the nurse about my medication and when I could have it next.”
He picked up the brush that my mom had used to get the tangles out of my hair earlier, and then ran it through my long locks.