Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Though, somehow I knew, things had just changed in my life.
Things that I wasn’t sure that I was ready for.
But before I could do a single thing, ask her for her number, hell, even catch my breath, men started yelling. “SWAT call, motherfucker! Let’s go!”
A SWAT call.
Son of a bitch.
Obviously, that ‘motherfucker’ and ‘let’s go’ was for me since I was the only one without a phone.
I darted toward the bathroom.
When I came out, she had the tie off and she was holding it out to me.
“You have to go?” she asked.
I nodded. “Looks like it.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and watched as I got dressed.
And once I was dressed, she was already holding the door open for me.
I would’ve said something, but just as I got outside, Saint hollered at me.
“Get in!” he called.
I grimaced and turned to say something only to have the door shut in my face.
Shit.
Chapter 7
Bibbitti bobbity boozed.
-Wine Tumbler
Hastings
Five weeks later
I pulled into my driveway at two in the afternoon a month later, and the first thing I saw was him.
Only, he wasn’t alone.
He was standing next to a cute little car that was painted sky blue, and next to him was a young woman that looked to be about my age.
She had a short bob of blonde hair styled perfectly, a short little sundress that showed off amazing legs, and didn’t have a zit on her face, unlike me.
Luckily, it was next to my hairline, and I could cover it up with my hair.
Before getting out of my car, I looked at myself in the mirror, making sure that I didn’t have any Cheeto dust on my mouth or face from my snack on the way home from Dallas.
I didn’t.
Getting out of the car, I tried not to look at the man and the woman so very close just a few yards away.
Instead, I focused on grabbing my big duffle bag from the trunk, then my suitcase.
I hooked the duffle to the suitcase, then leaned them against my car and bent back inside for my purse.
I had to get it all in one go.
There was no way in hell I was coming out here a second time.
And I had no clean clothes, so laundry needed to be done no matter what.
Especially since I had a hundred things I needed to do tomorrow.
One, I had to get my next book sent in to the editors. Then I had to go see my family or they’d all come over to make sure that I was alive and never leave me alone.
I’d just hooked my purse up over my shoulder and reached for my suitcase when I heard the grass crunching beneath someone’s feet.
I didn’t look up as I closed my car door and hurried up the path that led to the front door of my place.
I kept my head down and tried not to stare and look at the man that was likely now very aware of my presence.
It sucked that we were so close.
Maybe I should move.
I’d been living here for a while now because I didn’t want to move.
But…
A hand caught my wrist and my breath hitched as I stared at it.
I swallowed hard and looked up. Following the hand to the wrist, the wrist to the forearm, the forearm to the bicep, the bicep to the shoulder, the shoulder to the jaw—a scruffy jaw that covered those beautiful dimples I couldn’t stop dreaming about—and finally to the man’s glare.
I bit my lip.
“I can take a hint,” he said as he stared at me so long I started to shift from foot to foot. “You said you weren’t leaving for Alaska until a week after we last saw each other. So I came over the next day to talk to you and you refused to answer the door.”
I frowned. “I didn’t refuse to answer the door.”
“I heard you talking to yourself,” he said, dropping my wrist. “I know you were home. I saw you go inside. Your car was out front, and I’d been casing your place waiting for you to come home. Then you went inside. I knocked, but you never answered.”
He was partially correct.
But I’d been in the shower at the time.
I’d only known he was there because I’d gotten out and heard stomping as it moved away from my front door.
When I’d gone to the monitors, I’d seen him making his way back to his own house.
I’d told myself that I was going to go over and talk to him, but I was a chickenshit.
I couldn’t do it.
And the next day when I really did ignore him…
“And I came back the next day, again when your car was in the driveway, and you ignored me all over again,” he said. “I did that two more times before I realized that I needed to take a hint. I left you my number, though.”