Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
He stops walking and stares down at me. “And you would?”
“Yep.” I give him a knowing grin and start walking, leaving him behind.
I exit through the door, into the throng of the other moviegoers, and out into the chilly night.
I stop outside the theater, zipping up my jacket, and start debating on whether to walk or grab a cab.
“I’m driving you home.” Ares’s voice comes from beside me.
I slide a glance in his direction. “You drove here?”
“Yep. Come on.” He starts to walk away, expecting me to follow him.
“No, thanks. I’ll take a cab.”
“I’m driving you home,” he repeats with a firmness that irritates me.
“Don’t tell me…” I put a hand on my hip. “Missy said you had to.”
“She actually said I had to make sure you got home okay, and by that, she meant, see you safely to your front door, and I know you don’t drive, so I’m driving you.”
“Don’t you ever tell her no?”
He laughs loudly. “If only. I learned years ago to just do as she says; it makes my life a whole lot easier.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. He might be an asshole, but he loves his sister. Can’t fault him for that.
“Fine. Where’s your car?”
“Just over here.”
I follow him toward a big, shiny black truck. Surprisingly, he opens the door for me.
“Erm…thanks,” I say as I move past him to get in.
And…sweet Lord, it’s high. And I’m vertically challenged.
Okay, I can do this.
I’m just thanking foresight that I wore jeans tonight.
I lift my leg, managing to get my foot on the edge of the car. One hand on the door, the other on the seat, I try to hoist myself in…and fail.
I hear him laugh behind me, so I scowl at him over my shoulder.
He shrugs and smiles. “You need a boost in?”
“Fuck off,” I bite.
“You and your filthy mouth.” He tuts, head shaking, amusement in his eyes.
“Fuck off, please.” I give him a saccharine smile.
He laughs loudly, his eyes sparkling, and I hate the glow in my chest that I feel, knowing I made him laugh.
“You’re funny when you want to be, Jailbird,” he tells me, still chuckling. “But you are ridiculously small.”
“I am not ridiculously small.” I glower at him.
“Mmhmm.” He nods, lips pressed together. “You keep telling yourself that.”
“It’s a fact.”
“You can’t even climb in my truck, Jailbird.”
“Stop calling me that!” I snap. “I can’t get in your truck because it’s ridiculously big!”
“It’s a normal-sized truck. You’re just undersized.”
“Ugh, shut up, you big…tree.”
“Original.” I can almost hear his mental eye roll from here. “Now, stop being bitchy, and let’s do this.” He steps over me, and I hold out a hand, stopping him.
“And what exactly are you doing?” I suspiciously eye him.
He raises a brow. “Helping you in my truck. I’d like to get home at some point tonight.”
“If your hands touch anywhere near my ass, I will kick yours.”
“Don’t worry, Jailbird. I have zero interest in touching your ass. You’re not my type.”
Before I can register his words, large hands grip either side of my waist and lift me like a toddler into the car.
“There. That was easy, wasn’t it?” he says smugly.
I give him a fake smile and the middle finger.
Laughing, he shuts the door and rounds the truck, climbing in the driver’s side.
Engine on, the radio comes to life with Fall Out Boy’s “Alone Together,” and I want to laugh out loud.
Apparently, I do because he says, “What?” He pulls the truck out onto the street.
“Oh, nothing. Just this song.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I do. It’s just…the lyrics remind me of…getting sober.”
He goes silent. Then, he says in a quieter voice, “I didn’t know that’s what this song was about.”
I glance at him. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead.
“I don’t know for sure that it is. It’s just the way I interpret it—addiction and the road to recovery. It probably means different things for different people.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The only sound is Patrick Stump’s voice flowing through the car.
“So”—his voice sounds gruff—“where am I taking you?”
I rattle off my address, and then that’s it for the rest of the ten-minute journey it takes to get to my apartment. We don’t speak another word.
He pulls up near the sidewalk across from my apartment building, and I let out an audible groan when I take in the person sitting on the steps that lead into my building.
“What?” he asks. His eyes must follow my gaze because the next thing he says is, “Who’s that?”
I turn my eyes to his. The glow of the dash lighting his face.
“My ex-boyfriend,” I tell him.
His eyes seem to burn brighter in this moment. “A recent ex?”
I shake my head. “We broke up before…it was his car that I crashed that night. We were at a party. I caught him…with his pants around his ankles…and a friend of mine was…yeah, anyway, I left the party, got in his car, and…you know the rest.”