Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
For once, I do not get bored. I soak in every passing second as I watch his body move. Eventually, he’s done.
“There.” He stands. “It’s fixed.”
I beam at him. “Thanks! How much do I owe you?”
His brow furrows. “Forget it.”
“Okay then, how about a game of Monopoly?” I offer quickly.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Monopoly?”
“Yeah, I’m the best there is. If you can beat me, I’ll buy you an extra-large burger, chips, and the biggest sundae at Tim & Marty’s.”
He crosses his arms. “Okay.”
“Great,” I flush all over. “I have it right here.”
I reach into the basket and retrieve the box. I’d known when I’d destroyed my bike chain that I’d need an excuse to spend some time with him.
He stares at me.
Does he suspect that I came here intentionally with the flimsiest plan ever just so I can see him again? My pulse quickens under his gaze, every second stretching endlessly. His dark eyes are sharp, penetrating, and entirely unreadable and I feel like I might disintegrate under his gaze. Is he trying to figure me out? I shift nervously on my feet, gripping the Monopoly set tighter in my hands, but I don’t look away.
Finally, he exhales and pulls a stool next to the wall with one hand, setting it down near the workbench. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s play your game.”
I can’t help but grin as I pull up a stool across from him, setting the board on the workbench between us. My heart pounds with excitement, but I force myself to keep it together. He agreed. He’s actually going along with this.
“Okay, rules are simple,” I say, opening the box and pulling out the pieces. “No cheating, no backing out, and no crying when I destroy you.”
He snorts, leaning back slightly. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who brought a board game to a mechanic’s shop.”
“And you’ve got a lot of attitude for someone who’s about to lose,” I fire back, handing him the Banker’s tray.
His lips twitch as if he’s holding back a smile. “We’ll see.”
As we start to set up the game, I can’t help but steal glances at him. He’s not like no one I know. There’s a weight to him, a gravity that makes him seem older, more serious. I roll first, landing on a property. “Hah, Park Lane,” I declare proudly, placing my token on the space. “Of course, I’m buying. One hotel, please.”
“Spending all your money already?” he drawls, handing me the deed. “Bold move.”
“Bold is my middle name,” I reply, grinning as I hand over the cash.
He shakes his head, rolling the dice and landing on Chance. He picks up the card and he reads it aloud. “Advance to Go. Collect $200.” For the first time, I see him smile. It’s small, fleeting, but it lights up his whole face. My heart flutters in my chest, and I have to remind myself to breathe. This is why I came here. To see this side of him. To make him laugh, even if just a little.
“Lucky,” I mutter, but I’m secretly thrilled that he’s started to enjoy the game.
Slowly, the tension between us vanishes. I crack jokes whenever he lands on my properties, charging him exorbitant rent with exaggerated glee. He groans every time but pays up without complaint, his lips quirking in amusement despite himself.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he says at one point, after narrowly avoiding my three hotels on Boardwalk.
By the time the game is nearing its end, I’ve built an empire of properties, and he’s barely hanging on.
“Game over,” I announce triumphantly, counting my stack of cash with a dramatic flourish. “You’ve been thoroughly defeated.”
He leans back, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression. “I thought your intention with this was to make me feel better. I can assure you that right now I do not feel better.”
“Womp womp,” I mock, grinning as I hold up the wad of fake cash. “I do, however, have compassion, and I’m such a generous winner, so I’ll let you have this as a consolation prize.”
“You’re giving me fake money?” he asks, his tone dry.
“It’s the thought that counts,” I reply, laughing happily …
“Mrs. Jackson. We’re here.”
At the sudden announcement, I jerk back to the present and realize that we’ve arrived at my parents' house. I lean back against the seat for a moment, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag as the memory fades. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Only the memory of those wads of cash flying through the air is still sharp enough to cut. The contrast between the young man I knew and the man he’s become is almost too much to bear. My heart twists painfully and I will the tears brimming in my eyes to stay put. There’s no time for this sentimentality—not now. Now I have to stop thinking of myself and save my father.