Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Right beside her.
THREE
Reese
"How do I look?" I asked, turning in a circle for Knightley who just blew a couple bubbles in response. "Well, too bad. This is as good as it is going to get," I declared before I grabbed my bag, stuffing a book inside even though I promised myself I wouldn't take it out. Okay. So maybe I grabbed my e-reader too. What can I say, I like being prepared. In grabbing those two things though, I nearly locked myself out because I forgot to grab my keys. And my phone, well, I was pretty sure that was buried in my bed still like it had been all day.
Such was my life.
Books, in case of a social emergency were somehow more important than a way to call the police in an actual emergency. Heck, the most likely reason I would find myself in an actual emergency situation would likely be because I stepped into traffic without looking because I was too absorbed in some fictional argument or sex scene to remember to do such a thing.
But, yeah, I did what I promised myself I would do; I went to She's Bean Around. Even though every bit of me was saying a book, a cup of tea and super fuzzy pajamas sounded way better.
I was trying.
Why, I wasn't sure.
Maybe it just so I could tell my family when they asked me with those worried eyes of theirs, that I had, in fact, been out in the real world with the overrated real people that week. Or month. Or, let's face it, year.
The inside was packed, but not in the way that it was at seven-thirty in the morning when I usually dropped by before heading off to the library. This wasn't a line-out-the-door situation, people just getting their fix on their way to work. This was people just hanging out. Regulars constantly pestered Jazzy and Gala - and, yes, those are their real names, in case you were wondering, even though they totally sounded like they came out of some epic YA dystopia - to take over the empty place next door, to expand so there was more seating room. But they just didn't seem too inclined to do so. Maybe they liked the kinda hipster, indie vibe the place had with being so small, or maybe the idea of taking on more rent was intimidating. Who knew.
But anyway, yeah, it was busy.
When I walked in, there wasn't a single open space at a table as I made my way to the counter to the sounds of a song that seemed vaguely familiar, like maybe I had heard it on the radio at the grocery store or something at some point.
I got my large black coffee with a shot of blueberry and, just to experiment and step out of my humdrum comfort zone, a shot of white chocolate as well, and turned back around to see one open spot.
Next to a giant, really good looking dark-haired, gray-eyed, tattoo-covered biker. And, well, in my town, that meant one thing. A Henchmen.
So, alright, maybe I read some MC books. Maybe I drooled over monosyllabic, Neanderthalish, leather clad, ink-covered, curse-riddled bikers. It was all fun and non-threatening when it was pressed between the pages of a book. It was not quite the same thing to be face-to-face with bikers.
True, I knew Cash. He lived next to my mom, and had been nothing but sweet to her as well as me when I crossed his path. But this guy did not have that same laid-back, flirtatious, brotherly kinda charm that Cash did.
No. This guy was, well, intimidating. Granted, I was maybe a bit easy to intimidate, but still. He had a darkness that hung around him like a cloud. Most girls dug that. They were drawn in by the dangerous guys. Bad boys would never go out of style.
But, I really just preferred standing than sitting next to him.
Call it a personal preference.
I spent the next half hour or forty minutes mentally pep-talking myself into staying and not taking out my book. Even if I had no one to talk to, and I didn't want to stare at the guy on stage because that was creepy. Instead, I shot casual glances at his hands which seemed to strum the guitar almost absent-mindedly. Then at the guitar itself which was a neat cherry wood, somewhat dinged up in a loving way. And I listened too. His voice was actually kind of soothing, smooth and mellow, something you could listen to before bed to calm you down for sleep.
It was nice.
It might have been the only reason I was able to hang as long as I did.
So when the music stopped, and he thanked everyone for having him, I was about ready to dig through the giant purse I had to carry to accommodate the aforementioned books I brought along with me to find my car keys.