Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
That me running into him was the only bad thing that happened tonight.
But no, something else happened too.
I realized that I still remember it.
His taste.
And when he cornered me in that hallway and pounced on me like the predator he is, that was all I could think about.
That I know his taste.
I know what my ex-boyfriend’s best friend tastes like.
His cruel and mean and smirking lips taste like summer.
Watermelon and lemonade.
God, what’s wrong with me, Holly? How could I still be thinking about it?
When will I stop thinking about it?
When will I stop letting him get to me?
Not only that, I let him ruin my plans for the night.
After our stupid encounter, I had to take a few minutes to gather myself, and so by the time I got back, Lucas was gone.
My friends didn’t have to tell me why; I already knew who was behind it.
Now that he’s back, I know that this won’t be the last time. He’ll try to ruin all my plans. He’ll try to sabotage me at every step. He won’t let me get what I want that easily.
Which means I can’t let him.
He’s taken a lot from me over the years. He’s robbed me of my control, my emotions, my happiness. My common sense even, and as a result, I’ve lost everything important to me.
But not this.
He won’t take this from me.
I’m going to find a way to get to Lucas.
And I’m also going to find a way to forget it.
Forget what he tastes like.
My ex-boyfriend’s best friend.
~Echo
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Bandit
I’m the second son.
The son born after the first. Obviously.
And as a second son, I only have one job: to be like the first.
To do as the first son does.
To talk like him. To walk like him. To like the things that he likes.
Basically, I’m supposed to follow his lead and be a second version of him.
My older brother.
Who’s good and responsible. Straitlaced and a star in all things he does.
Or at least that’s what I’ve been told all my life.
One thing about me: I don’t like being told what to do. Not sure where that comes from but it’s my major personality trait. I tend to get pissed off when people try to order me around and so I do the exact opposite.
Which means that all my life I’ve taken a job of my own: to do everything that I can to screw up the first job I was given, and emerge as my own person.
Bad and irresponsible.
A rebel and a disappointment.
It’s pretty fun actually, to be all those things. Quite easy too.
You get to do whatever the fuck you want. You get to screw people over, go against expectations. You get to be selfish, reckless, careless. You’re not bound by the mundane laws and rules like other people are. Not to mention, you get to party a lot, drink and smoke and fuck as much as you want.
Without actually giving a fuck.
And I don’t.
I never have.
Giving a fuck is not something that I do. It’s not my MO.
Or it wasn’t until two years ago.
Two years, two months and twelve days.
And I have to say that I don’t see the appeal. I don’t see why people make such a big deal about giving a fuck. It’s very annoying and inconvenient and I’d rather go back to my old ways.
But I can’t.
At least not tonight.
When my best friend — the only friend that I’ve ever had — is hell bent on ruining his life by either getting alcohol poisoning or an STD, or both.
In the last minute or so, since I found him lurking around the makeshift bar at this very boring party thrown by one of our soccer buddies from school, he’s thrown back two shots. That’s a shot every minute, which puts him at at least five or six, since I started looking for him in the first place.
He told me he was going to find a restroom as soon as we arrived. Either he got waylaid by those two blondes who are hanging on his arms right now or he lied.
Stupid fucker.
Exhaling an angry breath, I push my way through people who are all trying to either thump me on the back or talk to me as I pass them by. What about my pissed off expression says, ‘come talk to me, I’m a friendly guy’ is beyond me right now.
Actually, what about my past behavior in high school says that they can approach me at all, I don’t know. I’ve always tried to be as unapproachable as possible.
Thankfully though, halfway through my very irritating journey to get to my best friend, he starts making his own stumbling way to me, those two chicks in tow, and so we meet somewhere in the middle. But before I deal with Lucas, I need to deal with the girls he brought along for the ride.