Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Do I need to point out the obvious?” he said.
“You mean that you’re now on the hook for ensuring I end my losing streak?”
“It’s all right to say what you’re really thinking: I’m a hobo.” He added, “I chose this life, and I’m not ashamed, so why should you be?”
“I just don’t see why we need to talk about something you don’t want to discuss. It’ll only make me want to pry, and you’ve made your feelings known about that.”
“True.”
“I mean, at this point, you’ve made it clear that you don’t want anyone’s help; you are tidy and a decent cook. You have money to buy a new tent and groceries, but no job. You have a membership to the Y, and you smell nice. Also, you seem fairly articulate—crunchy and bitter, but articulate—so you’re either self-educated, or you completed some form of school. Why would I want to talk about all that? Pfft! How boring.”
“Meri, you must believe me when I say that I am not a mystery to be unraveled. I am not starving, destitute, or in need of medical care. I am fully aware of my circumstances and live the way I choose. It’s not forever, but for now, this is what I must do.”
Must do? Why? “See. There you go again, saying nothing, but really? You’re piling on the mystery bricks. It’s like you’re begging me to grill you.”
He sighed with exasperation. “And this is exactly why I don’t talk to anyone. They only wish to meddle.”
“I’m not meddling. I’m curious. For example, are you happy? I mean, living all alone in a dark, wet, cold alley?”
“That is none of your business,” he growled.
We pulled up to Shawna’s place, and I parked in a guest spot, turning off the engine.
“I’m smelling deflection, which means you’re not happy. I’m guessing you could change things, but you don’t want to. You want to suffer. So tell me why, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“I don’t owe you anything.” He leaned in close, locking eyes with me. I noticed how his cheekbones curved down toward his upper lip, accentuating their fullness somehow. He really was handsome.
And looking a little pissed off. It was time to back off. “You owe me a win.” I hopped out of my red truck. “Coming?”
He grumbled something under his breath and got out. Silently, we made our way to Shawna’s townhouse. Once we got to the front door, I rang the bell and turned towards him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know I promised not to butt into your life. I’ll stop. But if we lose tonight, I’m burning your new tent.”
He shook his head at me. “I don’t lose.”
Strange thing to say for a man in his position, whom some might call a loser. But I was beginning to see he was anything but that. He was tough and stubborn. He was articulate and self-reliant.
So who was Beau Starling?
CHAPTER TEN
True to his word, Beau helped me crush the other ten people here at Shawna’s tonight, and luckily, she had gotten my message. Her friends knew nothing about Beau ahead of time, but it hadn’t prevented them from being curious or asking questions. Of course, Beau kept things vague, and I wasn’t the only one consumed with intrigue.
As it started getting late, Shawna’s sister, Egypt, cornered me in the all-white, immaculate kitchen (Shawna didn’t cook).
“How do you two know each other?” she asked.
“Neighbors.”
“Acquaintances? Just friends?”
What was with the twenty questions? “Yes to both,” I replied, filling my glass with water.
“Is he single?”
I felt my hackles rise. Yes, I’d just told her that he and I were friends, which was almost true, but it still felt like she was stomping through my garden, stepping on my flowers.
“Egypt, Beau is a pretty private guy, and I really don’t know that much about him, but I seriously doubt he’s open to a hookup if that’s what you’re after.”
“Hookup?” She jerked her head of short dark curls to the side. “I’m too old for that shit, and he is one fine man. Just trying to get a feel for his situation is all.” She poured herself a fresh glass of white wine from the fridge. “I mean, are we talking Manhattan or Louisianna? Burbs or farmland?”
“I’m not sure I understand—”
“Meri, men are like topographical maps. They have highs spots, low spots, and gradations. If you can figure out what their map looks like—are they mountains with peaks, swamp, or pastures?—then you know what you’re getting. You’ll know if you can thrive in their environment or not. ’Cause one thing I’ve learned about men is that they don’t change. What you get is what you get. Take it or leave it.”
I didn’t agree at all. Men could change, just like anyone else. “I’ve never heard that particular analogy before. But I don’t know what sort of terrain Beau is, and I think you should leave him alone.”