Cross Me Off Your List by Nikki Godwin Read Free Book Online Page B

only have a week to prove it.
     
    I’m not even sure how late – or early – it is
when we drag ourselves out of the VIP section and toward the exit
of Lights Out. I definitely should’ve worn better dancing shoes.
Benji stumbles next to me, but Nat catches him before he faceplants
on the sidewalk. We seriously should’ve taken the drinks away once
we moved to the VIP area. Noah was right, though – Benji got drunk
enough that he even let Nat drag him onto the dance floor. Of
course, it didn’t last long because Benji couldn’t even see
straight, but nonetheless, Noah’s prediction won.
    “Take him to the car,” Noah says to his
brother. He nods toward Benji. “We really don’t need anyone taking
pictures of him right now. I’ll hold off anyone out front.”
    We wait out front alone while Big Tony goes
to get the car. Tank and Nat go through another exit to avoid any
possible camera flashes. Fortunately, the paparazzi are gone, aside
from two creepers with cameras sitting on the curb. I guess waiting
around here all night for a picture of Spaceships Around Saturn
leaving a club wasn’t worth it. I can’t say I blame them. Sleep
sounds much better.
    “Is this what it’s like?” Noah asks. He
motions around us. “You know, being normal? I can’t even remember
the last time I went anywhere without someone stopping me for a
selfie or autograph.”
    “Um, yeah, it’s pretty normal for everyone
else to ignore you while you stand around and wait for a car,” I
say. “Welcome to my glamorous life.”
    Noah laughs and then wraps an arm around my
shoulder. He hugs me close to him while we walk out toward the curb
so we can jump in the car and get out of here pretty quickly. A
bright red sports car rolls up to the curb, though, instead of our
ride. Noah glances at it but doesn’t seem impressed.
    An older guy on a cell phone makes his way
toward the car. He looks to be in his mid-forties, but he’s
definitely held his age well. He reminds me of the rich doctor
type, a bit rugged yet clean cut, in that way that only actors or
models can pull off. He’s nice-looking. I can only imagine what he
looked like at our age. He probably has a trophy wife.
    Noah watches the guy, maybe thinking the same
things I am (except the nice-looking part), and the man catches his
gaze.
    “Excuse me for just a sec,” the man says into
his phone. He lowers it to his chest and takes a few steps toward
us. Maybe his daughter is a Spaceships Around Saturn fan. “Is there
a problem here?” he asks instead.
    I instantly turn to Noah, who seems as
confused as I am. He simply shrugs and shakes his head.
    “Then would you mind stepping back?” the man
asks. “That car is worth more than you’ll ever make in your
lifetime. Are you aware that you’ll be lucky to get a job with all
those tattoos? No one worth working for is ever going to hire
you.”
    The man shakes his head in disgust before
stepping back to his car and taking the keys from the valet guy. He
says something into the phone about ‘punk ass teenagers’ before
slamming the door.
    “Who the hell does he think he is?” Noah
asks.
    “Dr. Richardson,” someone says from behind
us.
    I glance over my shoulder to see a tall guy,
about six foot one or two, with surfer hair a lot like Benji’s,
except it’s sandy brown instead of blonde. Even in the glow of neon
lights and streetlamps, I can tell he has a beach-given tan. He’s
possibly the hottest guy I’ve seen in Crescent Cove yet – no
offense to SAS or their bodyguards. This guy just looks like he
lives on the shoreline and soaks up the sunshine.
    “Doctors are assholes, eh?” Noah says.
    The guy shrugs. “He’s always an ass. His son
is just like him, thinking they’re God’s gift to the world.
Arrogant sons of bitches. The doc’s going to hell anyway, and I
hope they don’t have mansions or yacht clubs when he gets
there.”
    A sea-foam green truck roars its way to the
curb in front of us. I’m pretty