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)
We rolled past a line of familiar cars.
Ryder’s truck stood out instantly. It was polished to a gleam, recently washed and waxed, if I had to guess. A few spots down was Cade’s Hellcat. Next to that, Nick’s vintage Mustang, restored down to every last chrome detail, a total showstopper. Ashton’s car was near theirs. Further over, I spotted Cloe’s Range Rover. Her dad surprised her with it when we graduated from high school. He was one of Hemlock’s top surgeons, and honestly, one of the kindest men I’d ever met.
He raised her alone after her mom passed, and he never remarried, always saying just because the love of his life wasn’t here with us, didn’t mean she was gone or that he could ever move on to another. It explained a lot about my best friend. Cloe was ambitious, loved few but loved hard, had high standards, and chose to be single for those same reasons.
I eased into a spot near the back and cut the engine. Voices and laughter drifted from the rear patio, mingling with music. We got out and headed for the diner’s entrance. I glanced through the windows and spotted a few of our people in our usual corner booth. Cloe and Ari were on one side, Rook and Xander near the wall. Ashton sat at an adjacent table with Dougie and, if I remembered right, a guy named Stu.
We walked inside, the warm diner air wrapping around us, thick with the scent of fried food and burgers. A few familiar voices called out hellos, upperclassmen at a corner table, and someone from Roxxi’s elective class gave a wave. I even caught a nod from one of the hockey guys near the register. The small comfort the familiarity brought evaporated the second I caught full sight of our booth.
Cloe looked like she was about five seconds away from jumping across the table. Arianna and Xander both leaned toward her, talking quietly. The others were spread out, but right across from her, there was none other than Macy.
Sarah Myer’s best friend.
I saw no signs of the other girl, which was weird enough. They were usually attached at the hip. Brooke really sealed the vibe. She was tucked up beside Ryder, polished and pretty in that soft way of hers.
“Why is Macy with them? She doesn’t even go here.” Layla asked. It was the first time she’d spoken since Roxxi flat-out refused to accept her apology.
“I’m more concerned about what they did to piss Cloe off,” Roxxi muttered.
I was wondering the same thing. Did I really have to go over there and pretend like I wasn’t completely over today? Was there a brand of melatonin strong enough to knock me out until party night? Roxxi stepped closer, dropping her voice just for me to hear. “Say the word, Sanj. We can pull Cloe and Ari out of that social quicksand, go home, curl up, and talk shit about our cursed-ass fates. Tomorrow, we rise again.”
A tired laugh slipped out of me despite it all. “Sounds like a plan.”
We continued toward the booth. Ryder’s gaze was already locked on mine. Like he’d been waiting. He tapped Brooke lightly. She looked between us, hesitated, then slid over to let him stand. What the hell was he doing?
He leaned down, said something to Cade and Nick, then started walking to us. A few guys called out to him as he passed, and he gave them each a response, a grin in place.
He didn’t stop until he was right in front of me. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah, sure.” I turned to Roxxi. “I’ll be right back.”
“You two behave,” she lilted, moving around us.
Layla offered a tentative smile before going the same way, wisely keeping a safe distance from Roxxi.
Ryder reached for my hand without another word. His fingers laced with mine, possessive in a way that was both comforting and disarming. He didn’t so much as glance at Brooke before leading me down a narrow hallway at the back of the diner, where framed posters that hadn’t changed since the place opened lined the walls. Just as I wondered where we were going, he pushed the door to the men’s room open and gently tugged me inside.
I had no time to protest.
The light was harsher in here than the rest of the diner, the floor was cracked black-and-white checkered tile, and the air smelled like bleach and something I couldn’t identify, nor did I want to. He let the door fall shut, and I instantly picked up on the distinct sound of someone pissing in a urinal. Ryder turned and pulled me against his chest, his body angled to block my view.
“Get the fuck out,” he ordered.
Somewhere to our left, I heard a groan of protest. “Seriously, Voss? I’m in the middle of—.”