Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“What?” I squinted at him while starting the car.
“He wants to demolish your house and use the land for crops. He said he’d make more money than your family’s paying him for rent—he’s mentioned your dad misses rent payments too often. And your house is the oldest house in Devil’s Head. Its green paint is peeling, and there are potholes the size of your dinky car scattered along your circle drive. But my mom thinks evicting lifelong family friends (and her future daughter-in-law) is a bad idea. She also thinks my dad would go to Hell for kicking a man of God out of his house.”
I popped the clutch and killed it.
“First time driving a stick?”
“No,” I grumbled, peeling out of the gravel drive on my second attempt while avoiding the car-sized potholes.
The Corys owned our house and land, and apparently, they owned me—their future daughter-in-law. I was all too aware that those missed rent payments were overlooked because Wesley and Violet thought I was going to marry their son. But I didn’t know they discussed it around Isaac.
“Mind if I smoke?” Isaac rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.
“Yes, I mind. My dad will kill me if he smells smoke in my car.”
“That’s why I have the window rolled down.” He blew a cloud of poison out the window.
“Fasten your seat belt,” I grumbled.
“Why? Are you going to crash?” He held his cancer stick between his thumb and pointer finger while the wind tangled my hair but did nothing to his short hair that had started to grow out of the military buzz cut.
“It’s the law now,” I said.
“And you’re a rule follower, Sunday Morning?” He shot me a quick glance, but I kept my eyes on the road.
“I suppose people who smoke have a death wish, so never mind, don’t fasten your seat belt. If we crash, maybe you’ll go quickly.”
“Jesus, Sunday Morning, you’re such a drag.”
“Because I don’t want to die?”
“Because you’re afraid of it,” he said.
“What’s the difference?”
He laughed. “God, your ignorance astounds me.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He smirked, puffing his cigarette. “If I wanted to die, I’d put a bullet in my head and be done. If I was afraid of dying, I’d give up smoking and fasten my seat belt. But I neither want to die nor am I afraid of it, so I get to be something you’ll never be.”
I didn’t want to ask. I was mad at him as I gripped the steering wheel with one hand and the gearshift with my other. But Isaac had a way of making me do things I didn’t want to do.
“What’s that?” I asked, frustrated with myself for satisfying him by once again showing my ignorance.
“Fun,” he chirped.
“I’m fun,” I scoffed.
“You’re fun to toy with, but you’re not fun to be with. You’re too uptight.”
The car skidded on the gravel at the four-way stop, and Isaac shot me a knowing glance—I’d nearly run right through it.
I was fun, smart, and a bunch of other things he knew nothing about because he’d been in the service for six years.
As with so many things in my life, this moment had a worthwhile note too: the country roads in Devil’s Head were mostly abandoned. Statistically, the chances of getting into a car accident if you ignored all of the stop signs were extremely low. Thank God!
As we stared at each other, he offered me the cigarette. “I promise it’s better than a cow’s butthole,” he said.
I snorted. “Have you licked a cow’s butthole?”
He shrugged. “It gets lonely on the ranch. Hours in the pasture, inhaling dirt and all that methane can lead to unfathomable boredom. The next thing you know, you’re passing the backside of a cow, and a gentle stroke here and there leads to …” He shrugged.
I tried to hate Isaac, but I liked him too much to be successful. He was fun, even if I had no plans of admitting it.
“Ew, I will never stick anything of yours in my mouth,” I said.
I didn’t mean it in that way. But when Isaac’s expression morphed into something akin to surprise, as though I did mean it suggestively, I didn’t want to convince him otherwise. It was the first time he looked at me like a worthy adversary.
So, I slowly raised my chin and smirked.
“Fuck me, Sunday Morning.” Isaac shook his head. “I’m taking that as a personal challenge.” He pinched his lips around the cigarette.
After forgetting that I was at a four-way stop with no other cars, I slowly let up on the clutch and pulled through the intersection with my nerves frayed, heart racing, and mind reeling. Why was I goading him?
He turned on the radio and flipped through the stations.
“No!” I shook my head when he stopped on a station playing a song I could not listen to.