Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
And he’s my crush’s son, but I’ll leave that part out. I’m almost scared to say it aloud, especially with all the hints Lexi keeps dropping. She seems convinced she’s seen right into my heart. She thinks she knows how badly I want Fletcher. The thing is, she does. She read me easily during that conversation we had at the gym.
“Should I put these in some water?” Mom asks softly, sensing I don’t want to talk about it. Mom is good like that.
“Sure, thank you,” I tell her, tossing the note in the wastebasket.
“How does he know where we live?” Mom asks, reaching for the flowers.
It’s funny. Before, when I thought Fletcher might’ve sent them, I didn’t care how he found the address. The fact that he did would’ve been enough, romantic even, thinking of him going through all that effort, but she’s right. How the heck did James find out where I live?
“We’re not publicly listed,” Mom goes on. “You know what Dad was like.”
When Dad was a kid in the fifties, his family was the victim of a stalker who’d targeted his mom, my grandmother. Since then, he’s tried to be anonymous, including taking our address off public registers.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, a shiver moving up my spine, an entirely different species of shiver to the ones Fletcher sends whispering over me.
Mom looks out the window. Her posture tightens. She and Dad were married for so long that, even if Mom never experienced any of the stalking, she shares a lot of his fear or shared since he’s not around anymore. Rest in peace, you beautiful, funny, wonderful man.
“Anyway,” she says, making an effort to be breezy. “Let me put these in some water.”
When I return upstairs, I see I’ve got a few missed calls from Lexi. “Do you want to come out tonight?” she asks. “I know partying isn’t your thing, but there’s a gallery opening downtown. There’s free champagne upon entry. I’ll take both, and you can be a good student and appreciate the artwork.”
I’m almost tempted to say no, but what else am I going to do? Hang around here, thinking about Fletcher? Or wonder just how the heck his son found my address?
“Sure,” I reply, “and who knows? Maybe I’ll go a little nuts.”
When I get out, I don’t go nuts. I have a sensible—some would say boring—time studying the artwork and making jokes with Lexi. When she moves on to a club, I get a cab home, and the whole time, I’m staring out the window, pathetically praying I see Fletcher.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fletcher
I wake with a pounding headache. After heading to the motel last night and getting nothing, I returned home, hoping to sleep. Then came the usual nightmares, the evil stuff, the never-let-me-rest shit. It’s tolerable when I’ve got Loki sleeping at my side, his small body curled into me. This morning, I miss him so much. He’d usually sense my mood, whine, and lick at my face or hands.
Standing, I head into the shower, deciding to go to the martial arts gym for the first time in months. I’ve been hitting the regular gym and lifting weights to maintain my size, but that’s it. Otherwise, my life has been simple: managing my gyms, spending time with my son, and trying not to think about anything.
After a shower, I walk to James’ room and knock on the door.
“Yeah?” he says, voice heavy with sleep. It’s just past eight a.m.
“I’m going to the gym. Want to join?”
“It’s early, Dad.”
“It’s not that early.”
He groans. “Later.”
I sigh, wondering if I should kick the door down and drag him out of bed. It’s the no-nonsense attitude my dad would’ve taken with me, but it’s not as though eight a.m. is that late. Plus, he’s twenty, a man now. If I push too hard, we might not have a relationship at all. Or maybe that’s another excuse.
Charles and the other PIs are chasing up the motel lead and using their networks to monitor for any sign of Zack, the dog thief. I’m waiting for the call, knuckles tingling as though preparing me for violence.
On the way to the gym, a warped sense of pride touches me. Last night was the first time I didn’t pleasure myself thinking about Samantha. It was only because I was so torn up about my dog and the lack of leads. Even now, as I drive, I can’t stop my thoughts from straying to her curvy young body, the light in her eyes, as if she’s ready to start a new adventure—yeah, with an old man.
After parking, I step from the car, stop, and do a double take. I must be so tired that I’ve started to hallucinate. I’m sure I can see Samantha sitting on a foldout chair on the green opposite the gym, an easel in front of her. Rubbing my eyes, I lean over my car’s roof. She’s still there.