Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
The roommate’s smart mouth falls open, and for a brief moment she’s actually silent. Thank God. I take advantage adding, “Next time can you stock up on the Costco brand of trail mix? I like it much better than this gas station crap you bought.”
“Oh my god, you are so rude! So rude! What the hell is your problem? Get out!” Again from the roommate in a high pitched shriek.
All this squawking is giving me a headache. “Can you please chill the fuck out? Christ, you sound like a freaking shrew. In fact, you can make yourself useful by grabbing me an Ibuprofen. Wait, make it three,” I say, rubbing my temples before snapping my fingers. “Oh, and a bottle of water. My trail mix made me thirsty. And maybe some different chips? These Sun Chips hold no appeal to me right now.”
I scratch my chin in thought while she stares, wide eyed.
“Actually, now that I mention it, never mind, I will just eat these. A bird in the hand and all that…” She stares at me, her feet rooted to the ground. To twist the proverbial knife deeper into her back I add, “Be a good girl and run along now.”
“Security!”
CHAPTER 1
CECELIA
“I meant to behave myself, but… there were so many options that were more fun.”
– Matthew Wakefield
“CeCe, I need you to do me a huge favor…” Molly’s voice, thick with reluctance, trails off. I hear one of her IKEA dresser drawers open (the one that took two of us three hours to assemble even though the instructions said assembly time was only forty-five minutes), some light rustling, then the dresser being slammed shut. Papers shuffle on her desk, followed by a lot of muttering.
“Terrific. Isn’t this just terrific.” Oh great. Now she’s talking to herself.
Even though I can hear her just fine, I take the TV remote and point it at the forty inch flat screen hanging on our small living room wall, turning the volume down a tad so I can hear her better. Although actually, I would have heard Molly if she was whispering to me from inside her closet… buried under a blanket, with the door closed; that’s how thin the walls in this apartment are.
I also put down the bag of Cheetos I’m stuffing my face with because, let’s be honest – they’re wicked crunchy - and who can have a decent conversation when they’re snacking on these tiny nuggets of scrumptiousness?
Plus, I want to enjoy every delicious, fatty, orange morsel, and probably won’t be able to once Molly starts making requests and I lose my appetite.
“Do I even want to know what this favor is?” I call out with a nervous laugh.
To be fair, usually the only favors she ever asks are mundane; like the time she wanted to borrow a pair of my shoes to kill a giant spider (by the way, I refused... I’m sorry, but that freaking spider was humongo-giganto). Or when she needed to borrow my car because hers had no gas. Or the time she borrowed my iPad for an entire week because she forgot hers at her parents’ house.
See? Pretty harmless entreaties.
However, I have a sneaking suspicion - and can tell by the sound of her voice - that this ‘favor’ might be a doozy.
I hear more rustling from her bedroom. “Would you please just come out here,” I request, exasperated, setting the remote down with a clank on the coffee table tote.
Molly sighs and appears in her doorway, leaning against the cheap plywood door frame, and slaps her palms down against her jean clad legs in defeat. “I don’t have my phone or my laptop.”
I blink at her and groan. “Ugh, Molly, seriously? Not again…”
“I know, I know - it doesn’t really sound like that big a deal, but I have some people I really really need to get a hold of before this weekend.”
It’s Wednesday.
“Well… do you at least know where your phone and laptop are?” I’m feeling slightly less irritated and like it might be safe to resume eating Cheetos.
“See, here’s the awkward part. They’re in Westons’ truck. But he’s in, um… He’s in Cleveland and won’t be back until tomorrow night at the earliest?”
“Um, okay… are you asking me or telling me,” I scratch my head. “I mean, don’t you at least have a spare key to his truck?”
She rings her hands then throws them up in the air in exasperation. “Ugh, I wish! It wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but this time the team flew to Ohio. He’s got his truck at the airport because he missed the team bus this morning - and I’m not driving two hours to the airport just to fetch a laptop when he’ll be home in less than thirty six hours.” Molly throws her hands again. “This wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t traded in his crotch rocket.”