Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Nola used to show me the funny memes her mom would send her, but it’s been ages since she’s shown me anything.
It’s been ages . . . well, since everything. Most noticeably since the reception. That was our turning point. I know Elle is a handful; she always has been. But for Nola to act that way during her and Ben’s reception is inexcusable.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep my tone friendly. I look at her, sitting over there in the corner with her knees pulled up. Her hair is in a messy bun, her finger is in her mouth. I can’t tell if she’s biting her nail or doing that whole play-with-your-lower-lip thing Elle tells me to do while I’m on stage.
“Just reading,” she says without taking her eyes off her phone.
Okay, so she’s reading. At least she’s not texting. I suppose that’s a win for me right now.
“Do you want to go out tonight?” I ask. “Hit a club or two along the strip?” This isn’t my thing. In fact, unless I have a gig, I’d rather never go to Hollywood. Nothing good happens on that stretch of road, where the nightclubs are, but Nola likes it. She likes to go dancing, so I’m compromising with her.
“No thanks.”
“No? I just offered to take you to a club, and you don’t want to? Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine. Why?” she asks as she looks up.
I give her my best dazzling smile—the one she has said makes her weak in the knees—but this time it doesn’t seem to faze her. Maybe I should just say fuck it and go myself. I’d hate every minute, but it would send a message.
“I don’t know. I just asked if you want to go out to one of those clubs you like, and said no.”
“It’s because I know you wouldn’t have a good time, and when you don’t have a good time, I don’t. Then the night seems like a hassle.”
Okay, she’s not wrong.
“Do you want to do something else?”
“Like what?”
Gah, I already suggested the club. Now I have to come up with something else. I sigh and run my hand over my hair. My mom made me cut it before the wedding, saying the shaggy, unkempt look isn’t really a thing anymore. It still takes me by surprise when I go to pull the wispy bits I usually have at the nape at my neck and find it’s been shaved instead.
“I don’t know. Do you want to go for a ride? We can cruise the coastline and stop at that clam shack you like so much.”
“Do you want to go to Mexico for dinner?”
Did I hear her correctly?
“No? Have we ever gone to Mexico for dinner?”
She shrugs, which would indicate that maybe we have, but I swear we haven’t.
“Driving to Mexico doesn’t appeal to me right now. If it’s something you want to do, I need to have a solid plan.”
“Why do you need a plan, Quinn? Why can’t you be spontaneous?”
I thought I was being spontaneous when I asked to go to the club.
“Mexico, particularly Tijuana, because it’s the closest, would take us about four hours, without traffic and border patrol. It’s already . . .” I look at my phone and see that it’s half past seven. “Seven-thirty, so we won’t even be at the border until eleven. None of this sounds safe.”
“Don’t you ever want to escape who you are? To just say fuck it and take off?”
I shake my head slowly. “No, I like who I am. Don’t you like who you are? Who I am?”
“Yes, but I feel like we’re missing so much life by being here all the time.”
“Nola, I’m confused. I’m giving you an opportunity to tour the US, on my dime. You can take a rental and tour whatever city we’re in. You can literally do whatever you want, but you tell me you have school, and now you’re telling me we’re missing so much life by being here all the time.”
“I’m not going on tour with you, Quinn,” she snaps. She stands and walks toward the stairs that lead to our bedroom and then turns around. “I love how you take something I want to do and turn it into a tour. Not everything is about you and your stupid band.” She stomps up the steps. I startle when the bedroom door slams shut, even though I knew it was coming.
“Fucking wonderful,” I mutter to the empty room. “Ugh.” My hands push through my hair roughly, and my fingers instantly miss being able to pull at the ends of my hair.
What in the hell did I do wrong now?
I replay the conversation back in my mind; it went from me asking to take her out to Nola wanting to go to Mexico without a plan and then telling me we’re missing so much life. Yet, all of it is my fault.