Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Me: We were friends. Not after tonight, though.
I didn’t really have any friends here other than them, but whatever. I’d rather hang out with Dayton kids than fall into the predictable role of the stuck-up rich kid. I didn’t get it, the vehemence toward a person simply because they didn’t have money.
Dickhead: Can’t say I’m sorry…
Me: Pretty sure you’re at the top of Barrington’s shit list. No more rich girls for you...
I really needed to let that go, but, yeah, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Yes, I was petty and jealous.
Dickhead: I’m always at the top of that list. Only one rich girl I like. And you are definitely NOT Barrington.
I typed out a response, deleted it, typed another. All while those words played through my mind. The shittiest thing about this story is that I almost fucking liked you.
Me: I hate you.
It was true. No one had ever made me want to kiss them and kill them at the same time the way he did.
Dickhead: It wouldn’t be half as much fun if you didn’t.
Dickhead: By the way. We’re going to a party tomorrow night.
Me: Okay… Have fun?
Dickhead: You’re coming. And that wasn’t a question.
Damn the bit of me that found his commanding bullshit hot.
Me: Fine, but you’re not picking me up.
If he picked me up, it was like a date. I wasn’t sure I was ready to date Bellamy West.
Dickhead: Whatever you want, baby girl.
24
Bellamy
I tossed my phone onto my bed, then grabbed the bag of ice from the floor and put it back to my lip. Forget that Bennett was trying to jump us, the second I walked into that Waffle Hut and saw him at the table with her, war drums went off in my head, calling some primitive part of me to battle. Because whether she liked it or not, the very animalistic part of me had claimed her as mine.
That was what I’d surrendered to tonight, and her leaving with me meant she’d inadvertently surrendered to it, too.
My bedroom door cracked open. “Bubba!” Arlo slipped inside, then leaped onto my bed. “I’m hungry. Momma went to work early, and there’s no Spaghetti-O's.”
I tossed the ice-bag onto the floor. “Dad didn’t feed you?”
“No.”
It was almost ten at night. Before the incident at Waffle Hut, I’d been over at Hendrix’s trying to move a car. Mom had messaged me to tell me she’d been called in when I was taking Drew home and said she was leaving a sandwich for Arlo, which, if I had to guess, Dad fucking ate in the ten minutes Arlo was here without me.
My jaw tightened as I pushed off the bed.
The hum of the television in the living room crept down the hallway, and my blood came to a low simmer.
Dad was worthless. I grabbed my shirt from the floor, pulled it on, then took the envelope filled with cash from my dresser drawer and tucked it into my back pocket. “Come on, you wanna go to McDonald’s?”
“Yeah!” He tumbled off my bed and flew to the door, stopping before he bolted out. His brow scrunched when his gaze landed on my busted lip.
“Did Daddy do that?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
I followed him into the hallway. “Busted it with the car door.” I hated lying more than anything. But some shit, he just didn’t need to know. Like that his big brother had gotten into a brawl over the girl he said would poop on him.
The ding of a bell and roar of a crowd blared from the TV before two oiled-up men went at each other in a ring. Dad sat in the recliner, passed out with a burned-down cigarette in one hand, and a whiskey bottle in the other.
My fingers twitched, the urge to knock his unconscious ass right out of that chair. But it would only cause more problems for Mom, and that was the last thing I wanted to do.
On my way to McDonald's, I stopped by the post office and dropped off the envelope, addressed to my mother, with almost two-thousand dollars in it before driving off.
* * *
The late-afternoon sun streamed through the pine trees surrounding Hendrix backyard. I finished filing off the Chevy's serial number, swatting at the mosquitoes biting the absolute shit out of me. “Come on, man. There’ll be plenty of girls there,” I said. I wasn’t even sure why I was trying to talk Hendrix into coming to the party—all he’d do would be give me grief about Drew. But he and Wolf were my boys. We did everything together.
Hendrix slammed the hood and shook his head. “I’m not going to The Dump party. The ginger’s gonna be there.” He rounded the car, snatching a wrench from the tall weeds before pointing it at me. “You go to that party, and you’re taking a steamer on Zepp.”