Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Then I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring.
I study it, then turn on my bedside lamp and hold it underneath. My eyes are bleary from lack of sleep, but I can make out the inscription: NL + LL Forever.
L for Lauren, Julia’s last name? Who does the ring belong to?
Holding it in my fist, I close my eyes and see the fear on her heart-shaped face as we ran from the scene. Her whiskey-colored eyes glittered with unshed tears, her bee-stung lips tight and compressed.
I flip over and beat my pillow.
Focus.
You need to ace this test.
Go to law school.
Be like your brother Kurt.
The one who isn’t here to carry on the family name anymore.
5
Julia
I open my eyes and realize I’m leaning against my headboard. My neck is bent at an unnatural angle with my cheek resting on my shoulder. I rub it to soothe the tension there, but it isn’t the only muscle that hurts. My knees are scabbed and my leg muscles are sore. Even my spine aches. That’s what I get for going to the alley with Scott, chasing a guy in the park, then running like hell from Connor.
Poppy, my roommate, calls through the door, “Julia? You in there?”
“Yeah!” I crawl out of bed and grab an olive green tank top and slip on some denim shorts.
“Hurray!” she calls, too cheery for morning, but that’s Poppy. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s eight.
I stagger in my bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror as the night before plays through my head.
The ring. I need to pawn it today.
I grimace then wash my face and brush my teeth.
After I pawn it, I’ll need to go back to the laundromat and beg Connor to forgive Eric.
I reach into my pocket from last night and my stomach drops. The ring! I remember holding it out to Connor—then Eric showed up. Shit, shit, shit. I’ve lost it.
“Julia? You going to be long? You have a visitor.”
A visitor? I push down the despair of losing the ring and take a deep breath.
“You could have started with that,” I say with a grin as I open the door. I take in her ladybug pjs and fuzzy slippers. I’m surprised she isn’t wearing her pearls. “You look adorable. Who is it?”
“I wouldn’t have let him in, but my dad said he was sending someone to install the HVAC. I assumed it was him and opened the door. Oh, it’s Eric. I put him in that little foyer room. So, he’s in the house, but not technically.”
I groan. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I did. Just now. Eric Hansen is here. Hockey player. Hottie. Whatever. Catch up.” She smiles, and with Poppy, it’s endearingly kind.
I’ve only known Poppy and Taylor for a year. They were really Sugar’s friends and sort of adopted me.
I sigh. “Great. Thanks.”
She tucks a piece of her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. “Want me to stall him? I could say you’re still sleeping?”
“No,” I say. “The man refuses to listen. I’ll deal with it.”
“Rough night at the club?”
“Nah, it was fine.” I ease past her and paste on a smile, hoping she doesn’t notice the scrapes on my knees. Sure, I could have asked Poppy for the money this month, and I did a few months back. She gave me what she could spare, but her family keeps most of her funds in a trust.
I don’t want to be that friend, the one who begs for money. I hate putting them in that position. I want to do this on my own without involving people I care about. I need to. It’s my problem, and yes, it’s humiliating to admit the situation that is my mother.
I open the beveled-glass doors that lead to the foyer. It used to be a greeting room for visitors to the house to leave their calling cards. The only furniture in the room is a lime green buffet table that Taylor redid with chalk paint. On top is a pretty blue vase with boho-style beige plumes inside.
Eric’s large frame and rugged handsomeness takes the air from my lungs. His hair is pulled back in a man-bun, my fav look on him.
No. I do not have a favorite look for him, but it does show off his ridiculous cheekbones and aristocratic, slightly bent nose.
He’s wearing jeans, gold Converse, and a HU shirt. The lion on the front seems to glare at me—much like he is now.
I lean against the doorjamb. Be cool, be cool. “Howdy, partner.”
He doesn’t smile. “That guy at the laundromat is scary. Stay away from him. I mean it.”
I huff. The nerve of him to tell me what to do.
“That’s what I told you. I repeat, you could have been hurt. Let me handle Connor.”
His arms cross. “How did you get involved with him? Are you on drugs?”