Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
A mosquito went up my nose and down my throat.
God fucking dammit.
I angry-kayaked the rest of the way to the island while choking on mosquito guts. This was all JT’s fault—just like every other damn distracting thing that day—and he needed to hear about it.
I pulled my kayak up on the rocky shore and only stepped two paces into the tree line before I noticed JT swinging in a portable hammock between two trees—the same trees where I used to hang my hammock, back when I had time for hammock-hanging—looking like the dictionary definition of relaxation. He wore a pair of faded cargo shorts Patricia would never have authorized if she’d seen them and a T-shirt that had ridden up over his lean stomach. His tanned legs were crossed at the ankles, and one lean, tanned hand—the one with the pretentious crown tattoo peeking out from under his fancy watchband—held a paperback book.
It was utterly infuriating that anyone so annoying should be so sexy.
“Stop it right now,” I yelled. “This is harassment!”
He lifted an eyebrow at me as he looked me up and down. Then he went back to his book. “I agree. Beat it.”
My arms flapped out to my sides in outrage. “I mean you harassing me. I’m not going to stand for it.”
He kept his gaze on his book. “I’m on an isolated island, Firecracker. And I was here first.”
I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. A very outraged fish. How. Dare. He.
JT glanced at me again, then looked away in dismissal. “Leave me alone, Flynn. It’s clear that you’re not capable of having a productive conversation with me right now.”
Something in my gut twisted. “Me? No way. It’s you—”
He sighed and cast his eyes toward the sky, looking suddenly weary. “It’s a Sunday. Can’t we just take one day off from the whole JT-is-the-root-of-all-evil thing? I already know. And you can start back up tomorrow, okay?”
I gasped, partly in shock—how did he know I’d been blaming him for things? Was the Rainmaker a mind reader now, too?—and partly because I couldn’t believe one human being could contain so much wrong.
“Maybe you could take a day off,” I shot back, “from trying to… to… to take what’s mine. As always.”
“What?” JT glanced at me in surprise. “What have I ever taken from you?”
My peace. My sanity. My self-control. My affection, every time I’d been foolish enough to give him a chance.
I was smart enough not to say any of that.
“The… the… the science fair in ninth grade!” I flapped my arms again. “The blue ribbon was gonna be mine. I made that whole potato battery experiment showing the voltage from different types of potatoes, and you let your stupid trained rat out of his cage the night before the presentation, and he ruined my project before I could even present it.”
JT sat up and turned toward me, throwing his book aside and propping himself with his feet on the ground to keep the hammock from swinging. He watched me for a long moment, his jaw tight, and he twisted his watch strap like the action might calm him down.
“No comeback,” I said smugly. “As I thought. When a Wellbridge wants something—”
He threw up his arms, giving up all pretense of calm. “Fine. Fine. You want to do this now after all this time? Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
He stood up, tossed his book onto the hammock, and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You wanna know what really happened during the ninth-grade science fair? Gwen Dunbar gave you the idea for that project, didn’t she?”
“I…”
“Don’t bother lying about it. Gwen told a bunch of us that she was trying to help you because she wanted you to ask her to Homecoming.” He rolled his eyes. “But I’m guessing she didn’t mention that the reason she had this amazing idea and research just kicking around was because her brother Lonny had already won the fair with that project a few years before… or that for a little while there, Lonny had a side business selling his old projects for cash.”
My mind raced to process this. “Hold up, I didn’t give Gwen one cent for that—”
“Doesn’t matter. My cousin Turner did fork over cash for an AP English Comp paper from him once, and he got caught immediately. All the teachers were very aware of Lonny’s scam. Turner probably would have gotten expelled if my mother hadn’t intervened—because it would never do for the Senator’s nephew to be branded a cheater.” He gave me a hard look. “Who would have intervened for you when you got caught, Firecracker?”
“I…” I lifted my chin stubbornly. “That’s irrelevant.” Though I couldn’t help realizing that the answer was no one. Certainly not my parents, who’d probably been off exploring some far-flung destination. Not Pop or Horace, who would have been busy running their businesses, or my mother’s brothers, who could barely keep their own kids in line.