Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“What the fuck, Dad?”
“You don’t go in—” he shrugs as he zips up the suit “—I go in.”
I groan and drag my hands down my face. “Good grief. Chill, old man. I’m going.”
“Have fun, Acer!” he calls as I storm off toward the door. “I’ll be in the bushes! I see you leave early, I’m climbing in that window!”
My feet drag through the mud of my messy feelings, but the threat of my dad’s attendance keeps me moving until I’m fully ensconced in the foyer.
Inside, it’s chaos.
There are strobe lights and laser lights, and people are packed wall-to-wall. There’s a foam graveyard in the corner, and a guy in a werewolf costume is doing body shots off a nurse. Someone else is crowd-surfing in a full inflatable T. Rex suit.
The vibes are all fucking wrong for my piss-poor mood, but the mess of the place serves as decent camouflage at least.
I spot Blake and Finn near the bar while I’m searching for a hiding spot, and for some reason, my dumbass feet take me their way.
Blake lifts his bottle of water, smiling at me. “Nice letterman sweater.”
“Thanks. My dad dressed me.”
“No shit?”
I shrug. “Long story.”
Scottie and Kayla wave at me from across the room, both dressed as witches—though Kayla’s witch hat has tiny beer cans dangling from the brim.
My eyes scan the crowd, but the one person I want to see isn’t here at all. But maybe that’s a good thing. I smell a little like cottage cheese, and surely that fuckwad would be following her around like a puppy.
The music shifts to a song I know like the back of my fucking hand. It’s the song from Grease that I’ve made Julia duet with me at more karaoke bars than I can count, and I instantly have visions of driving a car off a fucking cliff.
I’m here, alone, in a letterman sweater, and the universe thinks it’s a good time to play one of my fucking wet-dream songs?
Fuck off, fate, you bastard.
Determined to face whatever consequences Gorilla Bush Thatch doles out, I head for the door on quick feet with nothing more than a muttered expletive over my shoulder.
I’m surprised when Blake jumps in front of me and blocks me—surprised and fucking pissed.
“Get out of my way, superstar. I’m not staying.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, dude. No can do. Turn around.”
When I don’t comply, he puts his hands on me and makes me, and a rage boils so quickly I’m practically a scientific marvel.
And then Julia appears from the crowd. But she looks like a fucking fever dream. Tight leather pants. Black heels. Curled hair. Red lips. Smoky eye.
I blink. My brain malfunctions. “Julia?”
Blake or some other bastard pats my shoulder from behind, and I gulp and gawk at the sight of my best friend—the love of my life—embodying a Grease-inspired Sandy in front of me.
She smirks and pretends to take a long drag off a fake cigarette, then flicks it to the floor and stomps it out with the toe of her shoe. “Tell me about it, stud.”
My heart relocates to my throat and my excitement to my balls as Julia steps right up to me smelling like strawberry lip gloss and every single good memory I’ve ever had. She is heaven and home all wrapped up into one gorgeous package.
And then—without warning—she kisses me.
Hands in my hair, lips on mine, completely, absolutely, Julia kisses me.
I don’t think. I don’t even know if I’m breathing, but I do know I’m kissing her back. I grab her waist and pull her closer. The crowd around us might as well not exist. All I can focus on is the taste of her mouth and the thundering of my pulse and the voice in my head screaming finally, finally, finally.
And when we part, her eyes flick up to mine like I’m the answer she’s been searching for.
“Can I tell you a secret that I don’t want to be a secret anymore?”
I stare at her. My voice cracks when I finally speak. “Anything.”
“You smell horrible for the first time ever.”
Julia
“But bad smell and all, I’m in love with you, Ace.”
Ace blinks at me. Rapidly and repeatedly, like he’s trying to reboot.
The flickering orange lights from the jack-o’-lantern string above us catch the gold flecks in his eyes, and I swear to God, my heart is going to punch a hole through my chest.
For half a second, I panic, and my skin heats like I’ve been dropped under a spotlight. The silence is scary.
But then, he steps forward. His movements are slow and deliberate, like the rest of the party has gone quiet—even though it hasn’t. It’s still loud and wild, and someone’s screaming along to a Pitbull remix in the corner. There are body shots happening on the kitchen counter.
But Ace is only looking at me, and all my doubt flies through the window like a guy dressed as Zorro did an hour ago.