Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“It’s in Jefferson. It’s at the VFW hall. It’s military vets that are all between the ages of twenty-four and forty-four. And it’s for a good cause. What do you have to lose?” She poked me in the boob.
I flipped her off.
“Who the hell does a speed dating thing for a fundraiser?” I grumbled.
“Somebody who wants their boys to get out and live a little but knows that if they don’t give them a small time limit, they might freak out and go all June on their dates’ asses. If you get what I’m trying to say.” She raised a brow.
I did.
Some of these men may have issues like me, and this was the way to get them out and socializing with the world while also giving them a set amount of time to talk to each woman so they wouldn’t get overwhelmed.
It was a good idea, really.
I wondered who came up with it, but with little time to get dressed, let alone put makeup on, I didn’t stop to ask questions that I damn well knew she wouldn’t answer.
Amanda was a creeper. She managed to find out things that most people couldn’t imagine in their wildest dreams and would never hear about—but that came with the territory of her job as a bartender and the owner, along with her father, of the seediest bar in town.
She just knew stuff—good and bad.
“Wear your little black dress,” she ordered.
I ignored her order and walked into my bedroom, immediately going for my most comfortable pair of jeans.
They were the one and only pair that I refused to wear to Coke’s because I didn’t want them to get ruined.
They’d been with me since high school, and I treated them like they were my most prized possession because they were.
They just didn’t make jeans as comfortable as my favorites anymore.
Even the same freakin’ brand, in the same goddamn size, was different.
A brand-new pair in my size hung low in the crotch and were too tight around the waist.
A size six from eight years ago was a size ten now. I honestly hated buying jeans. It sucked. I just hoped and prayed that my jeans would live forever.
“You’re not seriously wearing those jeans,” Amanda sighed from the doorway. “I told you to wear the black dress.”
“Negative, Nancy,” I disagreed. “I’m well and truly tired, and if you want me to come, you’ll have to be happy with my hair up in a ponytail, my favorite pair of jeans, and a tank top. I’ll do you a solid, though, and wear my clean tennis shoes if the dust on my boots bothers you.”
Amanda flipped me off. “Just wear the damn boots. But know this…you’re going to look so out of place, and it’s going to make you feel awful.”
I laughed. “I always feel out of fuckin’ place.”
And that was the goddamn truth.
In my life, it was rare when I felt like I belonged anywhere.
The closest I got to feeling like I belonged was when my grandpa invited me over for dinner at the nursing home. Even then, I knew that I got a lot of stares because the old people all knew who I was.
I was the daughter of the town drug addicts. Being in a nursing home was sometimes like high school all over again. Just because they were old, didn’t mean they weren’t hip on every single thing that ever went on in this town.
They also had long memories, meaning I never got to forget who I was.
The only other time I’d felt like I belonged was when I’d taken Johnny home after his accident—or I took him, seeing as he couldn’t do a damn thing that involved utilizing his brain.
That bubble had popped shortly after going out the next day…but it was what it was.
I was used to it.
“Are you ready?” Amanda eyed me speculatively.
I eyed the makeup that I had yet to put on, then shrugged. I hated putting the stuff on anyway. I didn’t like the way it made my face feel. And don’t even get me started on how it felt to have something constantly on my eyelashes.
“Here, have a piece of gum.” She offered me the pack.
I threw it back at her. “I don’t like mint.”
She snorted. “Then you need to brush your teeth…just in case.”
“I will not be kissing anybody.”
Amanda grunted. “Oh, and did you hear that Officer Hottie—aka Johnny—was in an accident today?”
I would not ask. I would not ask. I would not ask.
“He what?” I asked calmly. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Pissed, but fine.”
But the smug look on her face said that I hadn’t hidden anything from her.
Fuck.
Her raised eyebrows practically screamed, ‘And this is why you need to go on a date.’
Bitch.
***
Johnny
“This is so fuckin’ stupid,” I told Parker. “Why the hell am I here?”
“The same reason all of us are here. Your friends set it up. Bitch to them,” Parker countered.