Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Speaking of BJ, his sister Brenda (yes, I was aware that Brendan and Brenda were the tackiest names for siblings) called me today to let me know that he was safe and sound. Apparently, he’d called his family to let them know he was okay. Well, I wasn’t okay. I was put on the back burner while he did his thing. I was starting to see that Riggs had a point. BJ was a total tosser.
The worst part was that I couldn’t channel my anger at BJ, because I had no way to contact him. He was undumpable. MIA. Which begged the question—how had I allowed myself to leave the door open for a comeback to someone who’d cut off all contact with me for six months without batting an eyelash?
Because you care about money more than you care about pride. And you care about never allowing your children to go through what you did. Walking with torn shoes to a one-hundred-K-a-year school.
Flashes of my treading through the vast corridors of Saint Anthony’s School for the Gifted in my tattered Mary Janes zinged through my mind. Back then, I had my real accent, my authentic, awkward sense of humor, and a dream to become an investigative journalist. I shook my head fiercely until the memories evaporated.
I stepped into the shower and lathered my body soap until bubbles ran down the expanse of my flesh. I turned the water to extra hot and closed my eyes, practicing deep, long breaths.
Everything is okay.
No. That seemed wrong.
Everything will be okay.
That sounded slightly more believable.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be o . . .
A loud noise of glass smashing came from the living room. It was followed by the sound of glass crunching over the floor, like someone had stomped all over it.
Riggs had a key, so it couldn’t be him. I lived on the second floor, but my window was directly in front of the fire escape.
Instinctively, I decided the best course of action was to wrap myself in a towel and confront the intruder in my living room. After all, there was no better thing to do than to greet one’s burglar half-naked.
Why not simply stick a RAPE ME note on your forehead, Poppins? Riggs’s wry voice taunted in my head.
Still in the bathroom, I caught myself. I couldn’t go out there empty handed. I needed a weapon. Something sharp and discreet. I looked around frantically. The only thing that was remotely practical was my pink shaving razor. I pulled it from the suction holder and dashed out of the bathroom, waving the thing in the air like it was a sword.
“Who is there?” I demanded in a shrill voice before coming to a stop in the middle of the living room.
My window—my only window—was smashed. Broken beyond repair. That was the bad news. The good news was that my burglar was also my fiancé. And the man I was about to murder.
Riggs was standing in the middle of the small room, calmly tucking his photography equipment into its cases, shards of glass adorning his gargantuan booted feet.
“Hey.” He popped a cinnamon gum, not bothering to look up. “Water must be hot after today, huh?”
The water was actually lovely. It was one of the things I liked the most about summers in the city.
Focus, Duffy, focus.
“Hmm. Did you just . . . ?” I motioned at the broken window.
He raised his head distractedly, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I smashed the tripod against it when I organized my shit. Don’t worry about it. I’ll call someone to fix it first thing tomorrow morning. Get them to install the triple-glazed stuff. You had a crack in the glass, anyway.”
How could he be so calm? This was going to cost a fortune. A fortune neither of us had. He couldn’t even pay for a subway ticket.
“Riggs, this is a rented flat!” I bellowed, balling my fists in anger. “You can’t just break things.”
“I said I’ll take care of it.” He bypassed me by stalking to the kitchen and filling himself a glass of tap water. He was uncharacteristically taciturn, but I wasn’t in the mood to ask how his day had gone.
“So what if you did?” I followed him, perching my fists on either side of my waist. “If something goes wrong, I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”
“You’ll have a brand-new window in less than twelve hours.” He leaned against the counter and filled himself another glass. He threw open all the cupboards before rummaging through them relentlessly. “Shit. Where’s your Tylenol?”
“Second cupboard to your right,” I gritted out. He was making a right mess, and I was in the wrong mood for it.
Riggs had some nerve brushing me off. I was living off my savings, with no job prospects, in one of the most expensive cities in the world. “And do you reckon you’ll pay for that wind—”