Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Who’s with you?” I hissed quietly, moving quickly toward Scott to keep him from my mom’s line of vision.
“Come over, I got you,” Scott spoke louder than necessary, sure to have drawn my mom’s attention. “Don’t worry,” he added, looking over at me as he lifted his arms in the air. Mine followed his up. “I put a ladder up. We just gotta help ’em down. They wanted to surprise you.”
“I’m scared,” Lauren said. The very worst possible voice for me to hear right now. My arms dropped to my sides. She’d ruin my last few moments alone.
I’d known Lauren for as long as I’d known Scott. We all lived in the same cul-de-sac. She’d gone from being a good friend to a stalker in training about six months ago when her sights set on me with laser point accuracy. Nothing I did ever dissuaded her. She was determined to make me her boyfriend. With the way she planned our lives together, maybe she thought I already was.
We were to be married straight out of college, and have four children, three boys and one girl for me to spoil. We’d have a lot of money due to my lucrative career with the National Football League. She referred to herself as my beautiful, arm-candy wife. She planned to be a stay-at-home mother, and shop with all the money I made.
Lauren was a pretty girl. Her dark hair and tanned complexion made her unique in a town where freckles and sunburns were the most common.
Her scared face poked over the cap board. The balloons jostled frantically under her death grip. Her dark gaze sought mine then riveted there, staring for several long seconds as tears welled.
My brows dropped in response. “Who’s she with?”
“Katie,” Scott whispered excitedly. He tapped his elbow against my arm in a weird conspiratorial gesture. His brows waggled suggestively with excitement.
“Come on. We got you,” Scott reassured.
Lauren hiked a leg over the top of the fence. Scott nodded at me to join in helping her down.
I hesitated, knowing that any time I touched Lauren, she took it as a sign of encouragement. My hands fisted at my sides. I didn’t want to help.
My strict adherence to manners instilled in me since birth fought my bad attitude, and I forced myself forward. Lauren wiggled around until she dropped down against me, chest to chest, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. I heard the balloons knock against one another behind my back.
She clung to me. I hit a growth spurt last year. Nine inches in twelve months with no sign of slowing. My current height of six feet, two inches tall towered over most of my friends. I was also strong due to ten years of playing football. My father was the varsity head coach of the local high school. Since he had won more than he lost, he held local celebrity status. Of course, I was given no choice but to play ball.
Lauren, on the other hand, had peaked at around five feet tall, and weighed maybe ninety pounds. She hung on to me until I bent to put her feet on the ground. Her viselike hold remained. We stood eye to eye, me looking down, her looking up, in an awkward stance as tears trickled down her cheeks.
“When’re you comin’ back to see your dad?” she asked. The waterworks made her voice raw, and she sniffled an awful sound right in my face.
I tried to straighten to my full height, but she held on tight. It took my hands gripping her forearms, giving a quick push to break her hold.
The balloons jostled free, floating into the sky above my house.
“Darn it,” Lauren said, using her fingertips to wipe at the tears and eyeliner under her eyes. “I made you the chocolate chip cookies you like. Katie’s got ’em.”
As if on some sort of cosmic cue, Katie hiked a leg over the fence, immediately losing her balance. The cookie tin dropped to the ground. It landed in such a way that the lid popped open. The cookies tumbled onto the grass.
“No,” Lauren yelped. “I made these for your ride.” She scurried for the cookies, making her best effort to salvage them.
“Beau. They’re here to load the truck. They could use you and Scott’s help to speed things along,” my mom said firmly from the kitchen door. She had finally found me. “Come on. It’ll put us on the road sooner and they’ll pay each of you twenty-five dollars.”
I acted as if I didn’t hear her.
At least until the right verses wrong code that I’d been born with reared its dumb head. I sucked. My mom had fought with my father, arguing to allow me the freedom to make my own decisions. It was the beginning of the end of my parents’ marriage.