Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“He wants you, Bry. I don’t know how he could make it any clearer.” Nat fluffs her dark hair and stands, giving herself a once-over in the mirror. “I’d fuck me,” she says with a nod of approval. I roll my eyes, but a laugh slips out.
“Why, though?” I muse aloud. There is no shortage of high school girls who want to hook up with Jackson Price. Or college girls, for that matter. He set his sights on me, seemingly out of nowhere last year. He’s gorgeous, funny, charismatic, but…a bit of a whore.
“Besides that whole innocent, blonde, blow-up doll look you’ve got going on?” She circles a finger in my direction and grins when I flip her off. With my freakishly big eyes and pouty mouth, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that comparison. She knows I hate it. “Give him a chance. You don’t have to marry the dude. Just…have fun. With his penis.”
“You’re an idiot.” I laugh. She has a point, though. I need to put Asher out of my mind for good.
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling off the I-10 in my little black Jetta. We’re only about twenty miles from my house, but it’s like a different world out here. No streetlights, no noise, no gas stations on every corner. Just a long, eerie, dirt road that leads to the old trotting park.
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m driving.” I shrug.
“You’re nervous,” she accuses.
“You wish.”
I pull up next to a few other cars and trucks I don’t recognize and kill the engine. Without so much as a word, Nat hands me the chapstick she just used at the same time I hand her some gum from my purse after popping a piece into my mouth. I rub my lips together and hand her the tube when a loud banging on my window causes me to jolt.
“Jesus!” Nat yells—while I make some noise that comes out as more of a squeak than anything—and cackling from outside my car follows. I open the car door to see Brett and Jackson standing there with shit-eating grins plastered to their faces, beers in hand.
“For you, Briar, my lady,” Jackson says, offering me a can with a dramatic bow. I’m still catching my breath and trying to calm my frantic heart, but I take the beer anyway as I glare at him.
“You guys are dicks,” Nat mumbles, accepting her own beer from Brett.
“Who do all these cars belong to?” I stuff my phone into my back pocket and leave my keys in the ignition in case we need to make a quick getaway. Local cops are starting to catch onto the growing fascination with this place, and I heard they’ve been patrolling the area more than they usually do.
“A couple belong to our group, but I’m not sure about the rest. Guess we had the same idea.”
“No better way to celebrate the end of school than to hang out in an old, decrepit building. Yay,” I say, weakly pumping a fist into the air, sarcasm dripping from every word. I’m surprised Jackson deigned this place an acceptable hangout. I wouldn’t think he’d be caught dead here.
Nat saunters over to me and hooks an arm though mine as we start to walk toward The Tracks. “Don’t be a pussy.”
As we get closer, I notice a huge gate surrounding the perimeter of the building. I reach the entrance and tug on the padlock.
“Guess they’re cracking down.”
“That’s always locked. This way, amateur,” Jackson says, peeling back a break in the chain link fence. “Everyone else is already inside. We just came out to get you guys.”
Nat giggles, totally getting off on this creepy shit, skips over to where he’s crouched, and slips through the hole. I hand my beer to Brett and follow her, but my belt loop gets stuck on a rogue piece of metal protruding from the fence. A warm hand lands on the small of my back, and my head snaps around.
“You’re stuck,” Jackson smirks and gives an innocent shrug. I’m on my knees, halfway through the fence with my ass on display, but Jackson holds my gaze as he reaches to free my belt loop with his fingertip. I wonder if he’s thinking of that night. Does he regret it? Does he know I do? Not that it was his fault. I was on a mission to self-destruct that night, and I was lucky I ended up with someone halfway decent.
“Thanks.” I’m not really sure what to say, or how to feel. I have a tendency to overanalyze things, so it’s probably best that I don’t try to decipher anything just yet. I stand up and brush the dirt off my knees and tighten the mess on my head. Brett passes me my beer and shoves his way through while Jackson opts to scale the fence like a fucking ninja. He lands in front of my feet, looking smug as hell, and I arch a brow in return.