Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
She sat next to him, staring out into the dark, trying to find the dog. “Where’s the other one?”
“With Deacon.”
“Who’s Deacon?”
“My cousin.”
“Is he also a member of your gang?”
“Club,” Judge grunted.
“Is there a difference?”
“A big one.”
Though she was curious about that, it wasn’t what Cassie wanted to know from him. She could get that clarification from Dodge or Stella at another time.
He dug his hand under his leather vest—a “cut” was what Dodge had called it—and pulled out a small container and a Zippo lighter. A second later he was lighting up a joint.
A joint.
Holy shit. She had a sudden flashback to her high school days.
He took a big inhale, held it for a surprisingly long time, then tipped his head back and blew the smoke up into the night.
He took another long hit, then held it out to her.
She stared at it like it was a copperhead snake. He was offering her drugs? She wasn’t sure about the legality of pot in Pennsylvania.
“I... I haven’t smoked pot since I was... younger.”
Even in the limited light, she could see his grin. “Quit tobacco years ago. Besides booze, this is my only vice.”
“Most people nowadays wouldn’t even call it a vice since it’s used as medicine.” The laws around marijuana had definitely loosened since she smoked it when she was younger. It wasn’t that big of a deal anymore.
“Yeah, it’s my medicine.”
She raised her gaze from his hand holding the joint to his face to see if he was being serious. He was.
“It’s good shit.”
She stared at the hand-rolled in his fingers again as he held it out to her. She shook her head. She wanted to keep her wits about her while they had this “talk,” so now was not the best time to smoke pot since she had no idea how it would affect her. She’d probably been about twenty the last time she smoked any. And even then, it was only when her friends had it. She never smoked it on a regular basis.
He was taking another hit when the dog ran back up the steps and went directly to her, forcing its way between her thighs and planting—Cassie did a quick gender check—her head on her lap. Her hands automatically began ruffling her ears. The bulldog groaned, her tail held up like a flag and wagging slowly, her eyes on Cassie’s.
“What’s her name?”
Judge pinched the joint out and tucked it away. “Jury.”
“Jury?” That was a strange name for a dog.
“Yeah.”
“Judge and Jury,” Cassie whispered.
“Yeah. We’re a team.”
She smiled as she stroked the big blocky head. A man who loved dogs couldn’t be all that bad, right?
“She’s sweet.”
Judge was staring at Cassie’s hand as it slid over his dog’s short, smooth coat. “Yeah. When she wants to be. She’s got a good instinct about people. So does Justice.”
“Justice?”
“Deke’s dog.”
“Were they litter mates? They have the same markings.”
“Yeah.”
She ran her hand down Jury’s smooth back. “I used to be a vet tech,” she whispered. Used to be. When her life was together. When she thought everything was set, everything was neatly planned. Her family. Her career. Her life.
How foolish she had been to think her life had been perfect. That her path had been set in stone.
His next words made Cassie’s hands still. “I know.”
Judge surged to his feet and Jury quickly pulled away from Cassie, watching her daddy’s every move.
Judge tipped his head toward the door. “C’mon. It’s fuckin’ cold out. We both got questions that need answers.”
Cassie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Even so, she definitely needed some answers.
She followed him inside into what turned out to be a small apartment. The open front room was a living area with a couch, a few tables, a large screen TV on the wall, an old stereo system in one corner and, toward what looked like a short hallway, a kitchenette. Probably the perfect size for a single guy.
Or a man she assumed was single.
The apartment was pretty sparse with no décor or photos, just the basics. It wasn’t filthy, but it wasn’t perfectly clean, either.
The first thing he did was shrug out of his cut and hang it on a hook by the front door, then slid his knit beanie off his head and tossed it on a nearby table, where he also placed his keys. But not hers. Her car key was still buried deep in his front pocket.
He brushed a hand over his hair, which was not at all what she expected. With as long as his beard was, she assumed he was hiding a bunch of hair under his beanie. He wasn’t. Actually, she was surprised with just how short it was clipped.
She wondered how he would look with it in reverse, with longer hair and a much shorter beard. With the facial structure she could see, he’d probably be fighting off women.