Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“But you wouldn’t take mine?”
“You’re different.” His touch deepened, and something about being above the highway with the cars zooming by underneath us, none the wiser to what was going on, gave me a little thrill.
“If I hadn’t been drunk...” My hands gripped the railing hard as that first perfect wave washed over me.
“I would have fucked you until you begged me to stop.” Harder. Deeper. “Then, I would have kept going.”
His words only stoked the flames until I was burning and shaking, unaware of a single thing that wasn’t him. Like coming up from deep waters, I sucked in my first full breath, then looked at Zepp. He licked one finger, then the other, and I knew that look.
“I’m not screwing you on a billboard,” I said, half laughing.
“So, it’s fine when you’re shitfaced but not on a billboard?” He adjusted his dick through his jeans, lifting one brow. “It would be memorable as shit.”
“And here I was, thinking you had your heart set on a stolen car.”
“I do. A stolen car. And now a billboard…”
“What if I have my heart set on a stolen car?” I bit my lip, teasing him.
“So, what you’re saying is, I can’t fuck you until I steal another car?”
“You make me sound so demanding.”
He stood and made his way toward the ladder, placing one leg on the first rung before glancing up at me. “Give me half an hour.”
I laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him back to me.
He dropped to the platform, placed his spine to the billboard, then pulled me into his lap.
“Back to the billboard idea, huh?” I said.
His lips met mine, fingers digging into my thighs as he pressed up against me. For a moment, I thought about it, but rationality quickly set in. We were on a billboard, with cars passing by, and truthfully, the thought of losing my virginity right here and now made me nervous. I wasn’t mentally prepared.
I pulled my mouth from his. “I didn’t bring you up here for that.”
He looked at me, a small line sinking between his brows. “Well, then why the hell did you bring me up here?”
To show him somewhere I came when I needed to get away from shit. But now that I thought about it, I felt stupid. I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s fine. We can go back to your house.”
He adjusted his dick again, on a barely audible huff. “Why did you bring me up here?”
“It’s just a place I like.”
He stared out at the horizon, the hum of cars on the interstate below mixing with the buzz of the cicadas in the treetops beside us. “It’s important to you?”
“Kind of. Not like there’s a whole ton of places to escape in Dayton.”
“Why?” Another adjustment. He was trying, but God, he really did have a one-track mind.
“I just come up here to remind myself that there is more than this shit.” I climbed out of his lap and sat beside him, glancing over the horizon washed in warm amber from the setting sun. “You can see the state line from here,” I said.
He grabbed the can of Grapico from the ledge and took a swig. “You can see the state line...and?”
“And I imagine what it’ll be like when I can finally cross it and not look back.”
“You think crossing a state line changes shit?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I like to hope.”
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it. “It’s the same shit over there as it is here, Monroe.”
“Don’t you hate it here, though? In Dayton.”
“Nothing I can do about it.”
“So you just accept it? This?” I nodded toward the housing project that was probably better than my mom’s trailer.
I was genuinely curious. I felt like I’d spent weeks trying to figure out what made Zepp tick, and I still didn’t know. He took care of Hendrix, had the house, dealt weed to pay his way. His situation was hard, but I assumed he would want something more at some point.
There was a long pause. One where Zepp stared out at the horizon, a thin stream of smoke slipped through his lips. “This. That.” He nodded in the direction of Barrington. “You think those assholes are happy?”
“I think they go to sleep at night without wondering where their next rent check is coming from, or if the police will come knocking.” Or if their mom was going to have overdosed in the night.
He sidled over on the platform until his legs brushed mine. I looked at him, and for a moment, I pictured what our life could be. If we escaped Dayton. For the first time, I dared to see a future for Zepp and me away from this place, but then it was gone. Snuffed out by our reality. I’d never asked him whether or not he wanted to stay in this town. I guess I had just assumed everyone wanted out. Then again, some people wanted out; they just didn’t believe they could do it.