Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
It was his own fault Reese cleaned him out.
Reese headed out back, found a circle of people who had a cloud of smoke around them, and bummed a few hits from the joint. Then he made his way to one of the patio chairs, a new beer in hand, and sat down.
There was a couple dry-humping right by the door, the girl overly excited as she talked dirty to her boyfriend. The rest of the people were either having slurred, drunken conversations, smoking, drinking, or damn near having sex with each other.
They were all trash compared to the BMA parties, poor, and came from the same “wrong side of the tracks” like Reese. But they threw some of the best wild fucking parties, so he understood why Nate went to these things.
And on the subject of Nate, he noticed the obsession his friend had over Black Mountain Academy’s librarian. It was getting fucking intense, if Reese really thought about it. Nate didn’t fuck around with anyone else, his attention and his clear need for the BMA staff member becoming almost fucking psychotic.
And here I am, feeling the same damn way for Keira.
He let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes. If he thought hard enough, he could imagine a different outcome for himself, one where he was just like the assholes he hated in Black Mountain. He could see himself happy, far away from all the bullshit. He thought about Keira, how he wanted that with her, how she made him feel like he actually had a chance to make something out of himself.
Aside from Max, no one had ever made him feel that way.
He pulled his cell out and brought up her number to send a text. It was late as fuck, and he had a very minor buzz going on from the pathetic two beers he’d consumed, but she was on his mind—like always—and he wanted her to know.
Or maybe this was a bad fucking idea.
Reese: Hey. I’m sorry for texting so late, but I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you.
He stared at that text, his finger hovering over the Send button, but before he could press it, the stench of cheap perfume slammed into his nose.
“Hey,” the slurred, female voice came.
Reese looked toward the voice and saw a redhead weaving her way through the couples all but fucking in front of everyone. She held a regulation red plastic cup in her hand, and the brown alcohol in it sloshed over the side with each step. It was clear she was drunker than shit, and he didn’t want to deal with her wasted personality right now. She’d bring him down; he could already tell.
He didn’t bother responding. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.
She stopped in front of him, weaving slightly, and placed a hand on the side of the house. Reese kept his gaze forward, thankful for the high from the pot, but her very presence was fucking with that too.
“I’ve seen you at some of these parties.” Even from the distance, he could smell the whisky on her breath. It was the cheap shit, the kind that would give someone a hellacious hangover in the morning.
“And here I thought you were all into little prude-ass Keira Sheppard.” The deep, slurred voice of Sully came through, and the girl looked over her shoulder.
Reese didn’t bother paying him any attention and in fact knew he needed to get the fuck out of here. He’d tell Nate to drive his ass back home, or maybe he’d just walk, take the time to clear his head. Because he sure as fuck didn’t want to deal with this bullshit tonight.
He stood, and Sully said, “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Reese exhaled, getting annoyed, fucking pissed. He wanted to be the bigger man and bow out. He sure as shit didn’t need to get in another fight, but man… Sully was going to push his goddamn buttons.
Fuck this. He’d walk home.
Reese started moving away from Sully, but he noticed a lot of the people outside stopped what they were doing to watch. No doubt they fucking smelled a fight in the air.
“Fucking asshole,” Sully muttered, and Reese felt his body tense.
He stopped and turned around to face the jock. “What’s the problem, man?” Reese kept his voice pitched low but didn’t hide the fact that if Sully wanted to go there, then so be it. The asshole had been giving him fucked-up looks all night, not to mention all the other times he’d rubbed Reese the wrong way.
Sully sneered and cracked his knuckles. “The problem, brother, is that you take all my fucking money with your shitty card playing and walk around here like you have the biggest damn dick.”
“I am not your fucking brother.” The air changed, thickened, became tense enough he could have cut it with a knife. “And it’s not my damn fault you don’t know how to play poker and got your ass kicked.” A muscle ticked beneath Sully’s jaw. “Second, it’s not my fucking problem you suffer from little dick syndrome and I piss you off.” A crowd was starting to grow in a circle around them, like fucking piranhas smelling blood. “You don’t want to do this.” It was a subtle warning to Sully. It was his decision if he decided to take the suggestion.