Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Long, hard, deep, and dreamless.
I woke up disoriented, staring into the darkened room, my panic shooting through my system for a moment until I remembered I wasn’t in the jail. I was at the clubhouse.
Safe.
Comfortable.
Really, really lucky.
It wasn’t until there was a knock that I realized what had woken me up.
“Yeah?” I called, sitting up.
The door inched open, bringing in bright light from the hallway.
“Did I wake you?” Detroit asked.
“It’s okay. What time is it?”
“Seven,” he told me.
“Seven?” I hissed. “At night?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t have woken you up, but you haven’t had anything to eat. And dinner is ready.”
“Oh! No. I’m glad you woke me,” I said even as my stomach let out a painful grumble. “I’ll be right down,” I told him.
He nodded and closed the door, blanketing me in darkness again. Seven at night. I’d slept for, what, six hours?
Granted, I needed it. But I didn’t think I’d sleep so easily in a strange place. I always tossed and turned in hotels or even at my mom’s place.
Stretching, I climbed out of bed, turned on the light, then made my way across the hall to the bathroom, putting myself together, then following the happy sounds of friends downstairs.
It wasn’t as packed as I expected.
There was Sway and a pretty blonde at his side, Crow and Morgaine, Coach, and a guy I hadn’t been introduced to yet.
He was a little younger than the others. Tall, thin, with brown hair that, when the light caught it, showed flecks of red, and a beard.
“Feel better after some sleep?” Morgaine asked, holding a hand out toward me, likely not wanting to have to struggle to her feet with her very round belly making it more difficult.
I stepped forward, squeezing her hand.
“Much,” I agreed. “Thank you,” I added. “The room is lovely.”
“We were mixed on what to do with it. It was Murphy whose logic prevailed,” she said, waving toward the blonde situated next to Sway. “She thought you’d feel better if you got to decorate it to your taste. And since none of us know what that is, we left it simple.”
“It’s perfect,” I assured her, giving Murphy a smile too.
“Oh, this asshole here is Rook,” Sway said, tossing a crouton off his salad at the somewhat younger guy. “He’s a prospect that turns into a pumpkin at ten,” he said.
My confused glance moved to Rook who shook his head. “I got a pain in the ass parole officer,” he explained. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly wondering if that was true of me too. I wasn’t on parole, but I was on bail.
“You can be anywhere you want,” Coach said, drawing my attention over to him. “It’s different. You haven’t been convicted of anything, so as far as the law is concerned, you are innocent and can do whatever you want. Outside of whatever provisions they might have given you. Rook is convicted and let out early, so he’s stuck on parole for a bit.”
“Oh, right,” I said, nodding, soaking the information up like a sponge in case I needed to know that in the future. “Detroit told me you made the desk in my room,” I said, not wanting to assume he made it for me, and embarrassing myself when he corrected me.
“I thought you might need somewhere to sit and work on projects,” Coach said. “So I threw it together for you yesterday.”
I moved toward him, reaching out both of my hands, and taking his.
“It’s perfect. Thank you so much. That was really sweet,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, shaking his head.
“Don’t ask him where he got the wood,” Sway said, and there was a shared chuckle, making me think I was missing out on some kind of inside joke.
“You’re over here,” Coach said, patting the empty chair next to him. Which left one other vacancy. The one at the head of the table. Presumably for Detroit, who was the only one still standing, scooping something into a bowl.
“Can I help with anything?” I asked, watching him look over.
He hesitated, like he didn’t want to put me out, but I was already walking toward him.
“Sure. If you want to take that platter out,” he said, nodding toward one on the island.
There was a lot of food.
Like maybe the man thought he was feeding an army or something instead of just the eight of us.
I brought the platter of asparagus, and grabbed the bowl full of orzo as well, and took them toward the table.
Detroit followed with a bowl of golden roasted mini potatoes, a bowl of mushrooms and zucchini in some sort of dark marinade, then went back to grab a big tray of baked macaroni and cheese, and a platter of bone-in pork chops with some sort of glaze and fresh herbs sprinkled on top.