Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
For one silent moment, we play chicken, staring at each other, waiting to see who blinks first. “Fine,” he grunts, nodding. “We’ll do it your way, but only because I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see you make a fool out of yourself.”
The thoughts of what he sounds like as he’s about to explode disappear from my memory, and all I want to do now is punch him in his stupidly handsome face.
How is it possible that winning the fight feels so much like losing?
CHAPTER 9
ROMERO
“What? What are you snickering at?” Tatum’s demanding tone is like an ice pick piercing my eardrum, reminding me of why I came to resent the shit out of her in the first place. She’s acting like a whiny, petulant brat who never learned how to leave well enough alone, and I’m about to take her over my knee and show her a lesson.
“I didn’t snicker.”
“Yeah, you did. In fact, you’ve been snickering at me ever since I changed my clothes. What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” I walk the last block before reaching Main Street with my hands jammed in the pockets of my jacket and my short nails digging into my palms. Not because I’m sick to death of hearing her voice, but because it's not doing me any good to react. Sometimes, the best response you can give is no reason at all.
“Bullshit. Why are you laughing at me?”
“I'm not doing any such thing. You're being delirious.” That was a poor choice of words, and I immediately regret them. If she is out of her mind, she's got plenty of reason to be. “Stop being so touchy and defensive,” I mumble as an afterthought.
“Is there something wrong with the way I'm dressed?” She looks down, examining herself and the designer clothes she's wearing. “What's wrong with jeans and boots?”
“Nothing.” Except the people around here are going to see those clothes, including her suede jacket that matches her brown ankle boots, and they'll know she's not from around here. They're going to ask themselves why a girl in clothes more expensive than their whole wardrobe combined is looking for a job in a little town like this. No matter how she tries, she sticks out like a rose in a field of weeds.
There’s also the fact that she insisted on printing out her resume at the office supply store five miles outside of town. I drove her out there but returned the SUV to the driveway so we could walk. It’s one thing for her to stick out. I don’t need the added attention. It’s bad enough I’m sure the boys told everybody at O’Neal’s about my return.
“I swear, I'm not nervous enough.”
This time, I do smirk. “You're nervous?”
“Yes, those of us who feel real human feelings go through things like this. I know it must be difficult for you to relate to.” From the corner of my eye, I find her looking me up and down as we walk side by side. “Maybe some of your components get rusty occasionally or your central system gets overloaded. That's probably as close as a robot ever comes to feeling things.”
“You really should drop that shit.” All it does is bring the memory of killing Kristoff Knight into sharper detail. Never in my twenty-six years had I experienced the sort of soul-deep satisfaction I did as I drew the blade across his flesh. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of him opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish while his life force poured over his chest.
The blinding rage that drove me to it? That, I’d felt before. Only once.
“Then maybe you should drop the whole laughing at me thing,” she retorts like the child she is.
“Then maybe you should stop doing stuff that makes me laugh.” I can't help it. The enjoyment I get from the way she growls and huffs is too good to pass up.
She tosses her blond curls over her shoulders with a frustrated sigh, and the gentle breeze carries the scent of her floral shampoo directly into my nose. I wish it didn’t make me want to bury my nose in her hair. “In case you forgot, you didn't have to come along.”
“Yes, I did, and we both know I did. So shut up about it. You’re wasting your breath.”
Slapping a palm to her forehead, she groans. “Of course. You wouldn't want to tell your boss that you let me walk around alone in a town where nobody knows I’m staying, God forbid.”
I do not have enough patience to deal with this woman, and yet somehow I refuse to let her lure me into a fight. The satisfaction of reacting to her stupid remark. That's all she wants. It's the only thing she has to keep her mind occupied, fucking with me. I should be happy she wants a job, even if I know she never will get one. She has no intention of actually working. Maybe I should encourage this, come to think of it. The less time we spend together, the less chance I have of murdering her.