Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I added my phone number and looked it over, and decided that was about the best I could do. Then I ran off a bunch of copies on the combination printer/copier/fax machine in the corner and stacked the papers neatly on the desk. Tomorrow, I’d visit the bar where we’d met, and every other place like it in the city, and I’d leave those with bartenders, bouncers, valets—anyone who could potentially have some information.
Jack had seemed perfectly at home in that singles bar, so this was probably a good way to find him. I just hoped it happened quickly, before he sold the watch for pennies on the dollar and it was lost forever.
Now that my little art project was done, I left the office and went in search of my phone. It was right where I’d left it—on the nightstand in the guest bedroom. I picked it up and scowled as I looked around. The bed was rumpled, there were condoms all over the floor, and the shopping bag had tipped over and spilled sex toys onto the rug. What a fucking mess.
I took one of the pillows and held it to my nose. The faint smell of sex and Jack and his cologne still lingered. Damn it, I’d really liked this guy, before he proved to be a snake. I’d even planned to ask him out, take him somewhere nice for dinner, maybe see if this could turn into something. But he just had to go and betray my trust.
Before leaving the room, I untangled the handcuffs from the headboard and put them in my pocket. If and when I found that little shit, they might come in handy. Then I shut off the lights and closed the door behind me. I’d have to remember to clean up in there before the maid service was in on Tuesday, but there was no way I wanted to deal with that tonight.
I went back upstairs and climbed into bed, and then I tried searching the name Jack had given me on my phone. There were about a million Jack O’Donnells on social media. I wasn’t even sure of the right way to spell it. Besides, it was probably an alias. Why wouldn’t it be? He’d said as much, something along the lines of lying to the men he met in bars, because that was what you were supposed to do.
Eventually, I gave up and put the phone down. My mind was still racing, though. By the time I finally drifted off, the light of dawn was filtering in around the curtains.
Just a few hours later, I was jarred awake by my ringing phone. I grabbed it from the nightstand, saw my brother’s name on the screen, and answered with, “You okay, Romy?”
“I’m fine. It’s ten a.m., time for breakfast.”
I sat up and pushed my hair off my face. “Shit, sorry. I overslept. Can I call you back in five minutes?”
“Of course. Take your time.”
My brother and I had a long-standing tradition of getting together every Sunday morning and catching up on our week over a big breakfast. We’d promised to keep it going during my temporary exile in San Francisco, so I was usually sitting in a diner by ten and waiting on his call. Not today, though.
After a quick visit to the bathroom, I went downstairs and got the coffee maker going. Then I sat on the kitchen counter with my tablet and placed a video call.
Romy was all smiles when he popped up on my screen. He was seated in his favorite diner, which was just a few blocks from where we’d grown up. I said, “You changed your hair again.”
“I did. Do you like it?”
He was a handsome kid, no doubt about it. We looked nothing alike since we had different dads, apart from our hazel eyes. That was the only feature I’d inherited from our mom, while he looked a lot like her with his light brown hair, slim build, and fair complexion.
He’d just gotten a haircut, so it was very short on the sides and longer at the top. “It looks great,” I told him. “Very hip. Do the kids still say that? Or has hip gone the way of groovy, keen, and bitchin’?”
Romy laughed at that and shook his head. “Where are you getting those expressions? You’re only ten years older than me, not some old fossil.” I grimaced at that word, and he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“A guy called me that last night. It was surprising to hear it again.”
He asked, a little too hopefully, “Were you on a date?”
“No. I picked him up in a bar.”
“How did it go?”
“Great at first, then absolutely terrible.”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed and condensed it down to, “I took him home with me, and after we had sex he stole my dad’s Rolex, jumped off the balcony like Spider-Man, and disappeared into the night.”