Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Because, if I had, I would never be able to keep those guilt-inducing tears at bay.
“I’m sorry, PD,” Alexa said softly.
Stupid. Fucking. Bitch.
Chapter 1
How do you tell the difference between a crocodile and an alligator? One will see you in a while, and the other will see you later.
-Words of Wisdom
July
I grumbled as I made my way up the steps to my new apartment, incredibly pissed off that I now had to get home from work at eight, rather than four thirty.
I’d missed my favorite TV show, and now I’d have to wait an extra two weeks for it to come onto the website rather than watching it in real time.
And yes, in this day and age, I was most likely the only freakin’ person in America that didn’t have a DVR.
“What are you going to do? He’s called me no less than five times!”
“Listen,” I grumbled to Angie, my assistant. “You’ll have to tell him I’ll call him tomorrow. I don’t have time to deal with his shit right now. I’m under a deadline, and it’s likely that I won’t get back to him even then.”
“Okay. Another thing. The order of wood you had being delivered tomorrow for the house won’t be there on time. They’re thinking it’ll be closer to noon.”
I cursed succulently.
“I needed that to be there on time, dammit!” I hissed. “Shittttt. Okay, here’s what I need you to do…”
Once I’d laid out my plans, I got off the phone and threw it down deep into my bag.
The stair under my feet creaked as I grabbed my keys from my bag.
I hated living in an apartment, but I’d sold my house for a hefty profit and now was in the middle of fixing up my second house.
The one that Dean and I…I shut that line of thought down before I could get too far down that rabbit hole.
This one I swore I wouldn’t sell.
I’d live in it.
For a little while.
I was what you would call a ‘house flipper.’ I was a newbie, but I’d learned from the best.
Dean had taught me…I viciously shut that thought down, too.
Dammit! Why couldn’t he walk out of my thoughts as easily as he walked out of my life?
I’d bought my first house when I was twenty-five years old, and I’d started fixing it up over the three years I’d lived there.
It’d been a dilapidated pile of crap when I’d first gotten it. I’d paid a little over fifty grand for it, and I had poured my heart and soul into it while also working full-time.
I’d sold the piece of my heart just over eight weeks ago for a very sweet hundred-thousand-dollar profit, and I was now living on the top floor of an apartment complex.
Again.
I hated apartment living, but I couldn’t pass up the offer I got for my house.
It’d been too good to be true.
Now with that profit, I was able to do it again but without the worry of a full-time day job.
I’d also managed to buy another small project house that I was working on at the same time. This one was specifically intended to be flipped. I’d set a deadline for myself because I wanted to get it into the Parade of Homes that was scheduled for later this fall.
So now, for the time being, I was living in an apartment that I hated.
Why did I hate it?
Because apartments were loud.
The people didn’t care about anyone but themselves, and I loathed that.
Especially my neighbor. She was loud and obnoxious, and I was fairly sure she was purposefully yelling at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night.
Not to mention she had tons of loud sex, and it was annoying. Nobody had sex that good.
Topping the last step of the crappiest staircase in Kilgore, I made my way down the hall.
I was in the very last apartment, meaning not only did I have the furthest to walk, but I also had to walk past all the doors that randomly liked to pop open with men soliciting me for services I wasn’t offering.
Thankfully, I didn’t have any of that today, and I made it to my door without a problem.
Putting the key into my lock, I twisted it and pushed my apartment door open, sighing when my cat, Mr. Feathers, came running up to me.
He was a Sphynx, one of those hairless cats that resembled a mutant, but I loved him.
“Hello, Mr. Feathers,” I called.
Mr. Feathers curled his large girth around my ankles, and I smiled as I bent down and picked him up.
“Are you hungry, big boy?” I asked him, walking to the fridge.
What I saw—or didn’t see—inside made me groan.
I’d forgotten to go to the store on the way home, and there was no way in hell I could ignore it like I had last night. I hadn’t had lunch. Or breakfast for that matter.