Total pages in book: 186
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
“If something ever actually happened with me and Ryder, you would be the first to know.”
“It would be an about damn time, champagne-popping moment,” Roxxi replied instantly.
I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “Anyway,” I dragged the word out as I stepped toward the stairs, “I’m going to shower. Then we can catch up.”
There was a chorus of half-mumbled agreements.
“I’m making spaghetti,” Arianna called after me. “So don’t take forever!”
“I won’t,” I replied, already catching the scent of garlic and herbs, making my stomach growl in response. I jogged up the steps, bag hugged tight to my chest. The tests were now crammed in there. I should’ve tucked them away before I ever got back in Ryder’s truck and avoided everything that just happened. Once I was back in my room, I shut the door behind me and took a deep breath. Everything looked exactly as I left it. Neat, spotless, and perfectly in place. Being raised by a neat-fanatic mother and growing up with Ryder, who practically spiraled over a speck of dust, meant order was second nature to me.
My singular window was shut tight, curtains drawn neatly across it, the faint sound of fall wind barely audible beyond the glass. A warm, spiced scent lingered in the air, a seasonal blend diffusing through my aroma machine. It mixed with the overpriced bag of pinecones I’d grabbed from the store last week, convinced they’d flood the room with fall vibes.
They didn’t smell nearly as potent as they had on the shelf. My vanity-desk setup hummed with soft lavender light from the keyboard, the surface spotless except for my laptop, a ceramic tray of lip balms, and a cluster of color-coded pens. Across the room, the TV mounted on the opposite wall cycled through a photo slideshow from my iPad. Memories of beach days with the girls, late-night selfies with our friend group, and Ryder doing something dumb with whipped cream.
I scanned the room again.
My bathroom was connected and technically all mine, but that meant nothing in a house full of girls who shared everything. Skincare, tampons, trauma. I loved them too death, but I also knew they were nosey as hell and if they found these on-the-fly things would go sideways fast. Roxxi would short-circuit. Cloe would open ten tabs and start drafting a spreadsheet of top obstetricians and clinics to make sure all bases were covered. Ari would be moral support. And all of them would be worrying about the wrong girl, which made the possibility of these being found worse.
Not that I could blame them.
If I were the one finding a random stash of pregnancy tests in one of their bathrooms, I’d be playing all three roles, crying, Googling, and panicking while trying to be supportive. I set my satchel on the floor, then crouched beside it, fingers wrapping around the handles of the bag holding the tests. I pulled it out and laughed when I realized Ryder’s candy was missing. God forbid he leave that behind. Not seeing too many options, I crossed to my bed and lifted the edge of my mattress, sliding the tests underneath.
It wasn’t the most creative hiding spot, but drug dealers did it in movies, so it’d do for the time being. With that done, I dug my phone out of my bag next and texted Ryder.
Home. As you know.
His reply was immediate.
Rye 🥖❤️
That wasn’t when you got inside.
Potato, potahto. Don’t text and drive.
My smile faded as I checked my thread with Ashton. Still nothing. My last message was marked read, but no reply. That wasn’t like him at all.
I’m home now. Are you okay?
I grabbed my pajamas from my dresser and went into the bathroom. This was one of my favorite parts of the house. The soft floral wallpaper, the blush-pink vanity, and the gold fixtures gave it a whimsical charm. The patterned tiles were cool beneath my feet, and the air already smelled faintly of vanilla and rose from the wax warmer on the counter. I tapped on my fall playlist and let a familiar track fill the space while I turned on the shower.
Steam began to rise quickly, curling against the frosted glass window that was an inch or two taller than me. It was a strange place to put one, but since you couldn’t see in or out of it, I assumed it was added for natural light or something. I peeled off my clothes and stepped beneath the stream, tilting my face toward the spray. The hot water hit my shoulders and rolled down my back, easing some of the stiffness I'd carried all day. I exhaled slowly, letting the warmth seep into my bones. For a moment, nothing else existed but music, the hiss of the water, and the silence of my thoughts.
I reached for a towel on the rack above the toilet, wrapping it tightly around myself as steam clung to my skin. I grabbed another for my hair, then wiped a patch of fog from the mirror and reached for my moisturizer.