Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Yeah, like you said. Right?” I study her face carefully as I add, “Remind me never to read private texts in your presence. When did you learn to read upside down?”
She shrugs tightly. “I don’t know. Now, maybe? I just looked and…” She shifts to stand beside me, reading the text again. “Wow. Yeah. The cameras are out, and he wants you to go check on them. That’s…” She clears her throat and stands up straighter. “That’s exactly what you should do. What we should do.”
Deciding to ignore her weirdness about the cameras—for now—I nod toward the rest of the bowling team. “My truck isn’t here. I rode with Chuck.”
“That’s fine.” She waves a breezy hand. “I can drive. Just grab your things. I’ll wait here. Oh, and tell Kane I’m coming with you? Just in case he tries my cell and realizes I left it at home?”
Frowning again, I nod and head over to say goodbye to the rest of the team, my head spinning.
She left her cell at home?
That might not be strange for some people, but Starling is always on her phone. She monitors the Furry Friends social media account like a newborn baby she alone can keep fed, happy, and living its best life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Starling without her phone.
I’ve also never seen her in sweatpants, a t-shirt, no bra, soaking wet, without her makeup or hair done, or in such a manic state. The rain pouring down outside explains the wet part, but the rest of this is odd to say the least.
Something is definitely up with her—and that message she so desperately wants me to delete—and I intend to find out what.
Tonight.
Chapter Three
STARLING
I’m a witch.
Or clairvoyant maybe?
Or this could be one of those weird glitches in the matrix that happen every once in a while, like when you see a one-legged seagull fly by your window only to see an exact duplicate fly by in the same direction just a few seconds later.
A lot of smart people say there’s a real chance we’re living in a computer simulation.
Maybe that’s what this is.
If so, I should be more worried about my consciousness being trapped in virtual reality and controlled by my Artificial Intelligence overlords than embarrassing myself in front of Christian.
But I’m not.
The rain pouring down as we race to my car, the strained silence on the way to the shelter, the smell of Christian’s spicy cologne teasing at my nose in the small space—it all feels too real to be a simulation. Which means my bad luck may have taken a chilling turn.
What if I can make bad things happen, just by thinking about them?
The cameras were broken a few weeks ago, but they’ve been fine since the technician came out to service them. What are the chances that a lie I whipped up on the spur of the moment to explain my harried presence at the bowling alley would turn out to be true?
Slim, I think.
Maybe even very slim.
On the off chance I do possess some latent, supernatural power to control the future, I should be careful about what I say from now on.
“Stay here,” Christian says once I’ve parked behind the darkened shelter. We always turn the interior lights off for the night, but even the light above the back porch is out, making me think a power outage is probably to blame for the glitching cameras. “Let me make sure it’s safe before you come in.”
“It’s fine, I’m not afraid. And I want to be there if you need help,” I say, reaching for the door only for my brain to short circuit when Christian wraps his big hand around my knee.
“Humor me.” His fingertips pressing into my skin through my damp sweatpants is the most erotic thing I’ve felt in ages. “If someone’s broken in, I’d rather they bash my head in than yours. And that way, if I don’t come out in a few minutes, you’ll be able to call the police.”
Before I make a conscious decision to agree, my head is nodding loosely on my tingling neck. I’ve tingled for men before, of course, but never all the way up into my neck.
But Christian’s hand on my knee is enough to make me sizzle from head to toe and everywhere in between, rendering me mute and helpless to argue as he slips out the passenger’s side and dashes through the rain to the back door. He’s punched in the entry code and entered the building before I remember why it’s imperative that I don’t let him out of my sight.
If he’s flying solo, he could listen to that voicemail, and I’ve gone to too many extremes to prevent that to give up on my mission now.
Grabbing my pepper spray from the console between the seats on the off chance there’s an intruder inside who needs neutralizing, I once again launch myself out into the pouring rain.