Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
“You gave it to me,” I lie. I ran a background check on everyone in the building. I suspect I know more about Flip than his roommates.
“Huh. I guess I did. Anyway, what do you need?”
“We’re having a party. Get all your friends and go to my apartment. I’m bringing the booze.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“Man I feel bad. If I had known you were a partier, I’d invited you to one of our ragers but you seemed like you weren’t interested.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Oh.”
“But now I’m hosting a party and I want a lot of people there. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars for every person you bring.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No.”
“Fuck. Okay, I’m on it. How much time do I have?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“I hope your wallet is thick,” he sings into the phone.
I tuck the phone away and join Quinn inside.
“Work everything out?” she chirps.
I reach up and cup her cheek. “Almost. It’s almost perfect.”
Chapter Eight
Quinn
“This is a lot of food.” Daman pushes the cart for me. It has so much stuff in it that it’s hard to even turn the thing. Daman keeps grabbing random things and tossing them into the cart. I notice if my eyes linger on something for more than a few seconds, into the cart it goes.
“Don’t want to run out, do we?”
“I guess not.” This has somehow turned from his party into our party. “I’ve never been to a party before,” I admit. I’ve definitely never hosted one before. “I’m not sure what we need. Unless you count those charity functions my dad sometimes drags me to.”
“I’m not into parties either.” My eyes go to the frosted cookies that are covered in sprinkles. My mouth waters thinking about them being a late-night snack. I divert my attention away from them but before I know it, Daman grabs them and tosses them into the cart.
“You don’t want to throw this party, do you?” I peek over at him.
“Yes, I do.”
I turn to look at him, putting my hands on my hips.
“That does not sound very convincing.”
“I want to have the party because you’ll come over and I’ll know you’re safe.”
I smile up at him. That’s really sweet. I’m not sure if he’s right about the whole rape thing, but I do want to see Daman’s place. I wasn’t excited about going to that frat party to begin with, but now excitement fills me thinking about having a party at Daman’s.
“I think we got enough stuff.” He heads toward the front of the store. I pull on the bottom of my skirt, feeling really overdressed for a grocery store. I start to take things out of the cart, leaning over to place them on the checkout belt. Before I can get more than a few items on it, Daman is ushering me over to the end of the line.
“Why don’t you watch to see if everything is ringing up correctly? I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”
I shrug my shoulders and keep an eye on the cashier’s screen, watching the total tick up higher by the second.
“Are you sure you really want to get all of this?” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. He already admitted to only having a party because he wanted me to come over. So that he would know that I am safe. Now he is spending an arm and a leg to make that happen. He reaches up, pulling my lip out from between my teeth.
“Don’t bite yourself.” I lick my lips. “I can afford it.” He pulls out his wallet. I step to the side so he can slide his card through the machine.
“Some party you must be having,” the cashier says. I notice her eyes eat up Daman. I turn to look away, not wanting anyone to see that it irritates me. Daman isn’t mine so I’m not sure why I’m letting it bother me. If another girl wants to look at him, she can. There aren’t any rules against it. He doesn’t have a ring on his finger.
“Yes, we are having a party,” Daman answers. I peek back to the girl. Her red curly hair is piled on top of her head. I know she’s waiting for an invite. Daman doesn’t issue one. He stands there looking bored instead.
“I need your ID.” He reaches back into his wallet, handing it over to her.
“Is this where the party is?”
My mouth falls open at her audacity. She totally just read the address off his license. How rude and unprofessional is that? Daman takes his ID back as she starts to scan the alcohol. I had no idea what to get. I picked up everything that looked fruity and a couple bottles of champagne that were covered in glitter.
She rattles off the total as she starts to bag some of the stuff. I pick it up, putting it into the cart. The bagger helps me. “I got it,” Daman tells the boy. “I’ll help her.” He moves to take his spot, bagging up the groceries himself.