Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“This has nothing to do with you!” she barks.
“It doesn’t have to do with you either, but that never stops you.” I can’t help but grin at Brittany when I recognize the way her face starts to fall. “And if you try to get money out of Emma to pay for the damages, it had better be an accurate fucking invoice. And if Emma takes the photos on my phone to another body shop, they better give her the same quote, get what I mean?”
Somehow, the sight of Brittany’s eyes filling with tears doesn’t touch me inside the way Emma’s did. “You’re a prick.”
“You just figured that out?” I can’t help laughing—quietly, at least—as she and Tiana march off, muttering to each other, probably plotting revenge or some shit. I almost hope they do try something, so I’ll have the excuse to retaliate. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t technically my fight.
It’s Emma’s, and now she’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “Why did you do that?” she asks in a soft voice.
“Like I said. You’ll owe me now.” I’m kidding, of course. I mean, not completely—she’ll owe me something.
She doesn’t understand that. “Oh, I should’ve known,” she replies bitterly. “What, am I going to owe you a blowjob, too?”
“What the fuck? What are you talking about?”
She waves me off, shaking her head. “Right. Like you don’t know.”
“I don’t. What the hell are you talking about?”
She searches my face like she’s looking for the truth before walking around to her driver-side door. “Why don’t you ask your brother? I just want to go home.”
The word home clears out my confusion. “No way.”
“Would you give it up?” Her voice carries a lot further than I would expect considering how pale she looks and how softly she was speaking just a second ago. Bright patches of red bloom on her cheeks, and they only make the rest of her face look ghost white in comparison. “I’m not allowed to go home now? Are you ever going to get tired of torturing me?” She drops into the seat behind the steering wheel and reaches for the door handle like she’s ready to slam it shut.
She’s too slow, or I’m too quick. Either way, I grab the door before she can get it shut. “You should not be driving,” I remind her, rolling my eyes when she does the same. It’s like she’s determined to get herself killed. “You couldn’t even make it out of the parking lot without hitting another car. I wouldn’t feel right letting you go like this.”
“What, you care about my safety all of a sudden?”
“No. I’m worried about the other people on the road.” I have to snicker when she sputters at my response. “Stop being a stubborn brat and slide over. I’ll drive you home.”
“And how will you get home?”
“God, who knows? What a dilemma.” Still, she slides over like I told her to while I mutter, “Maybe I’ll hitchhike. Maybe I’ll walk the whole way. Or maybe I’ll just get an Uber the way anybody else would. It’s almost like I can pull out my phone and get a ride wherever I am.”
“Fine, smartass.” She wraps her arms around the backpack sitting on her lap. “I’m just saying, it’s an inconvenience.”
“Yeah, well, like I said. You owe me one. It will all even out in the end.” I just have to figure out what I plan on making her do—and make no mistake, she will make up for this somehow. I’m not good at empathizing with others, and I flat-out suck at letting go of a debt.
We are a block away from campus by the time she speaks again. This time, there’s a lot less fight in her voice. “Thank you, I guess. I was so overwhelmed. I didn’t even think about the position of Brittany’s car.”
“It’s not much of a defense, but it’s something,” I muse as we come to a stop at a red light. “She’s all talk. All it takes is somebody standing up to her, and she’s got nothing.”
“Why are some people like that?” She looks out the window to her right when she asks, and her voice is soft, far away. She might not even be talking to me—she could’ve asked herself that question.
“Some people have nothing better to do.”
“Speaking from experience?” When I glance her way out of the corner of my eye, I see she’s looking at me now. Smirking, even.
“At least with us, we have a reason.”
Though right now, driving her home, it’s harder to remember that reason. Maybe because now she’s a person. That night outside the hospital, she was a pain in the ass, a know-it-all who couldn’t keep her nose out of our shit. A narc.
Now she’s a girl who looks like she’s had a rough day. Maybe a rough week. And while it’s kind of fun to make her squirm, it’s not as much fun watching somebody else do it.