Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Someone not like Norman, as I learned.
My heart sinks. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. Shouldn’t be dwelling on that right now. Tonight of all nights. So I force a broad smile on my face and agree with Becky. “As long as tomorrow’s interview goes well,” I hedge, but she brushes away my doubts like so much air.
“Please, girl. I’ve seen you give this presentation so many times I know you could knock it out of the park in your sleep. Now let’s have some fun.” And then, before I can stop her, Becky’s back at the bar ordering us another round.
Three more shots and a couple hours of dancing later, to no one’s surprise except maybe Becky’s, she winds up hanging off Marco’s arm as he finishes his shift.
“I’m so sorry to cut tonight short,” she’s yelling in my ear in the parking lot, but I wave her off.
“It’s fine. Honestly, I should get to bed anyway. I don’t want to show up hungover tomorrow.” I’ve got plenty of time to sleep this off, but, still. You can never be too careful. “Have fun!” I add, and to judge by the little wink Becky fires me over Marco’s shoulder, I know they both will.
If there’s a faint pang in my chest at watching them saunter off, Marco’s strong arm wrapped around Becky’s waist, well… I can ignore that, too.
I head back up the club entrance and order a rideshare home. At this hour, it shouldn’t be too long of a wait. But before my phone even connects with a driver, I hear a muffled curse, followed by the clatter of something metal hitting pavement.
Confused, I step away from the door and the bright light of the club entrance. Near the entrance, but around a far corner of the brick building, hidden from the view of most of the clubgoers, there’s a row of parked cars. Standing next to one of them, cursing and rubbing his back, is an older man. Between his silver hair and his wire rimmed glasses, he reminds me of my grandfather.
The cursing, however, is not very grandfatherly.
He kicks at a tire, swearing up a storm, and I can’t help myself. I step over to him.
“Do you need some help?” I ask.
He turns to squint into the club light. I move closer, and his vision clears. “Oh, aren’t you a dear.” He shakes his head. “But it’s this tire needs changing, so I’m afraid you won’t be able to help me.”
“My dad taught me how to change a tire, don’t worry,” I reply, hiding a smirk. I realize I don’t look like the handiest person with a power tool right now, dressed as I am in a tight black club dress, with my mini going-out purse over one shoulder and a full face of makeup.
But, as my mama always used to say, I contain multitudes.
“Here, let me give it a shot.” I duck down to pick up the end of the jack that he let fall beside him. Then I glance up at his worried expression, trying not to feel too offended by his doubt. He’s from another generation, clearly. “If I mess up your car, I’ll call the tow truck myself, all right?”
He laughs. “Well, if you’re that confident, miss… you’ve got a deal.” He backs up, then, and I get to work.
It’s easy enough to jack his car up to the right height, and I’m lucky he has a wrench in his trunk. I get to removing the lug nuts that suspend his tire, and he watches, his eyebrows climbing higher every second.
“Not often these days you find any kids your age able to do this,” he comments. “Much less… well.”
I shoot him an amused glance over my shoulder. “Much less a girl dressed like this?” I ask, arching one perfectly brushed eyebrow.
He grins. “Apologies for doubting you, miss.”
“Cassidy,” I reply. “And there’s no need to apologize. Just give a girl the benefit of the doubt next time. My dad taught me how to do this before he’d let me apply for my driver’s license. Said it was a necessary life skill.”
“That’s me schooled,” the man promises. “Lee, by the way. And thank you. Your father taught you well,” he adds, watching me work.
I step around his trunk to reach for the donut, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Expecting it to be Lee, I glance back. Then I freeze, my eyes going wide.
There’s an unfamiliar guy standing behind me. Two, in fact, both a head taller than I am, and dressed in dark clothes. I look around, startled, and realize the second guy is already holding Lee by one arm, his fingers digging into the poor man’s bicep hard enough to be visible from here.
“Hey, leave him alone,” I say, at the same time that Lee blurts out, “Let the girl be.”