Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“What?”
“Kissing.”
He doesn’t move, and I don’t stop.
“Or their hands,” I add. “I’d be cold, or it felt foreign, or like I was bored or something. I didn’t really understand foreplay.”
I stare at nothing off to the side, remembering Notre Dame. I went to parties with roommates my first year, and I met guys in class and various social clubs, but I knew pretty early on that there was no point in wasting time being that uncomfortable to make a relationship happen that, if successful, would take me away from Shelburne Falls.
I was coming home after I graduated. No exceptions.
“Now that I’m home,” I announce, “maybe I can get to know someone to where it feels close and warm and exciting.”
But he tells me, “I think that comes when you really know someone and know that what you’re about to feel is an escape.”
My pulse thrums in my neck as he gazes down at me.
“Their scent,” he goes on, “their skin, the feel of their mouth on your stomach. It happens in the middle of the night when she rolls into your arms, and it becomes like food, Quinn. Like shelter.”
“Did you ever feel like that?” I inquire, but it comes out as a whisper as I hold my breath.
“No.”
Then how does he know that’s what it’s like?
I lie there, resisting the urge to rub the place over my heart where it hurts. But I never want to leave, no matter how much it rains.
“Why aren’t you married?” I ask him. “And don’t say it’s because you haven’t found the right person.”
He stares off, trying to find the words. He’s probably had several relationships. He’s successful, handsome, and probably financially well off—building skyscrapers in one of the wealthiest cities in the world with no family to support.
“I like to be left alone,” he whispers.
I narrow my eyes. The words are harsh, but his tone was an apology.
“Why did you stay?” I ask next.
He frowns a little. “I don’t know.”
Another apology.
“That’s good to hear,” I tell him.
I like it when the people older than me, who care about me, don’t pretend they have all the answers. It rarely happens.
The rain feels fresh on my skin, and I don’t want to get out of it yet. “I’m going to ride my bike home.”
Sitting up, I get out of the car, and turn around, seeing concern on his face.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
Yes, it’s unsafe, and I’ll get drenched, but having a mind of my own feels too good, I guess.
Plus, he doesn’t know where my new home is exactly yet, and I like to be left alone sometimes too. Especially when I know what I still want from him, and don’t trust him enough to let myself have it.
I set off to grab my bike.
Rain spills down my arms, plastering the thin, plaid shirt to my arms. My legs shine in the moonlight as I pedal, my tiny purse hanging over my body with my phone safely tucked inside.
I dig into the coin pocket and pull out some denomination that might be a nickel and fling it over the side of the bridge. There might be a car down there, but I’ll either be leaving too early and coming home too late to see anything in the dark. If I do get the chance, though, I’ll have to stop and look. The river isn’t that deep in most areas, and Farrow says it’s visible on a calm day.
There’s no body down there, though. I think she got out of the car and no one knows.
But still… Tradition and all.
Standing up, I pump the pedals uphill, climbing to Knock Hill and checking behind me every so often. There’s no one there—no one on the road—but I keep feeling something at my back. Paranoia, I suppose. That creepy, black Dodge still lurks in my mind, and I’m very surprised Lucas or one of my brothers isn’t following me to ensure my safety.
Looking over my shoulder, I gaze down the dark road. Very surprised, actually.
The odd light will illuminate as I pass a warehouse. Security measures activated by motion, and at one point, the hill elevates so steeply, I have to dismount my bike and walk a little.
When I arrive on my lane, there are two houses on the right with a light on somewhere in their brownstones. And Farrow’s is on the left, every room lit up. I smile, walking along. From the small amount of time I’ve been around the last couple of days, there are people coming and going from his place all the time.
My house sits to the left of his, a glow shining through the living room window.
I halt.
But just for a moment.
Hunter’s car sits at the curb, and my stomach sinks. Maybe he and Dylan left something at the house from when they used to spend time there?