Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
But the stronger I grow, the weaker his hold on me becomes, and one day, he'll be nothing more than a bad memory. A really freaking awful memory.
“How in the hell did Atlas come from a man like that?” Scarlet says, snapping me back into the present.
“I ask myself that all the time. He's such a good man, and his dad is, well, evil.”
“It was really bad?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I saw how you looked, you know, but like...”
I sigh as a maelstrom of emotions race through me, before offering her a wobbly smile so she knows I'm not mad. After all, it's human nature to be curious, even when it’s morbid. Or maybe especially when.
“Yeah, it was bad. Really bad.” So bad I’m not sure how to discuss it conversationally while sitting in a massage chair with my feet in warm, bubbling water. “I still, um, have nightmares. But Atlas, he helps.” I lower my eyes to my lap in an effort to hide my flaming cheeks—I bet they’re just about the same color as the nail polish she picked. I mean, I'm talking to her about her ex, who I'm currently dating. Talk about awkward. Then again, nothing about my life has been very orthodox, so why start now?
“It's fine, you know,” she says, reaching over and laying her hand over the top of mine. By some miracle, instead of flinching, I find comfort in her touch.
“What is?”
“You and Atlas.” She flits her eyes toward the ceiling and laughs under her breath before focusing back on me. “Don't get me wrong, I was mad at first, but real talk, he and I weren't all that serious, and the two of you are clearly meant to be together. I may be a bitch, but I'm not a raging bitch. I'd never stand in the way of true love.”
“True love?” Butterflies take flight within me, their wings flapping wildly in my belly. “You really think so?”
“Girl.” Scarlet draws out the word. “That man would burn the whole world to the ground to save you. So, yeah, true love.”
She sounds almost wistful as she says it, and I can't help but wonder if she's ever been in love. But before I can ask, my nail technician drops down onto the stool in front of me, effectively stealing all of my attention.
“Are you still cool with The Smoke Shack for lunch?” Scarlet asks once we're back in her car. “It's a little out of the way, so if you're hungry, we can go somewhere closer.”
I shrug. “I'm good with anything.” It's not like I'm going to make a fuss when she's doing all of this for me. As sad as it sounds, I'm just happy to be along for the ride.
“Okay then, buckle up and let's go.”
Scarlet cranks the radio and belts the lyrics at the top of her lungs, while I stare at her in wonder. How she manages to keep us on the road while singing and dancing like she’s on stage is beyond me. I still hate driving—and I still suck at it, too.
“So, what gives?” she asks, when she mimes holding the mic my way and I shake my head. “Are you shy, or just a shower singer?”
“I don’t… I don’t know any of these.” I slide my hands under my thighs to keep from fidgeting.
“Like, none of them?” Her eyes bug and her glossy lips make a perfect ‘O.’ Scarlet quickly schools her features, but I saw all I needed to—this is just one more way I’m an oddball.
For a split second, I worry she’s going to laugh at me, but instead, she turns it into a game, where she plays a song and asks if I know it or not. I do pretty good with the older pop, awful with any and everything new, and absolutely kill it with the older rock my dad always listened to.
“Well, that was fun, but are you ready for the best bar-b-que of your life?” Scarlet asks as she whips the car into a parking space, sending gravel dust into the air all around us.
“I guess.” My heart is still thumping hard against my breastbone. Where Atlas is safe and steady, Scarlet drives like a madwoman. Polar opposites.
“Oh, ye of little faith.” She cuts the engine. “You'll see. C'mon.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and open my door, only to instantly be surrounded by the mouthwatering aroma of smoked meats.
“Look at you.” She laughs, nudging me with her elbow. “We're not even through the door and your mouth's watering.”
I don't bother replying, because she's right. It smells amazing, like when I was little and my dad would barbecue for Labor Day. If it tastes even half as good as it smells, this might just become my newest pregnancy craving.