Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I gasped, looking up at him, forgetting my nervousness.
“And why not?” I challenged. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I didn’t think anybody would.”
Ridley frowned, then unconsciously slipped the handcuffs from his hand via the key he’d pulled out of his pocket.
My mouth dropped open.
“What the hell,” I said. “They’re just allowing you to do that all willy nilly?”
His mouth quirked. “All willy nilly?”
I frowned at him.
“I can’t help the way I talk,” I crossed my arms over my chest.
His eyes went down to my chest for a few long seconds, then moved back up to my face.
“I’m being serious,” he said. “You can’t come up here anymore.”
“Why?” I asked.
His brows rose.
“Why?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Why?”
“Because this isn’t a normal thing here,” he said. “I’m undercover, and you could slip and call me Ridley and blow the whole thing. Not to mention it’s more than obvious that there’s a fuckin’ leak somewhere or you wouldn’t be here.”
His glare was ferocious.
I shook my head. “I won’t do that.”
“You can’t promise me that,” he countered.
I was nodding even before he finished that statement.
“Yes, I can,” I said emphatically.
He sighed and sat down on the couch that was easily ten years old.
It looked comfy, though, by the way Ridley’s shoulders and back sank into the cushions.
“Sit down,” he said tiredly. “You’re here now.”
He sounded resigned, and I frowned.
Had I made a mistake?
I thought he’d like having me visit him.
But I also didn’t really know him outside of a few texts.
Sure, we’d been texting on and off for a few weeks now, but that didn’t mean much.
He didn’t know me well other than from texting.
And when we did talk; in person and over a phone were completely different things.
I sat down at the table, turning the chair around to face him, which he found amusing.
“You came here for a reason,” he said.
I bit my lip.
He sighed again, and I started to get angry.
I wasn’t usually such an emotional person, but the man currently sitting in front of me had affected me from the first day I met him.
“I quit my job,” I said in a rush when he looked like he was about to say something else.
He blinked, staring at me.
“What?” he asked.
“Well, not the main one. But I quit volunteering,” I said. “I told them I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“And?” he asked.
“You were my reason for telling them I couldn’t do it anymore,” I said. “I told them I had prior engagements for the next couple of months. And they didn’t think I was telling the truth.”
His mouth quirked up in a smile.
“So what, they followed you?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I think they did. I really think that they thought I was lying, so I had to prove to them that I wasn’t. So I came,” I said.
He laughed.
Not a small laugh, either, but a full belly laugh.
I found my first smile in over twenty-four hours since I’d given my notice with my boss that I wouldn’t be coming to the clinic anymore.
“So other than driving two hours to come see me when you didn’t want to, how’s life treating you?” he asked. “You said in your messages last night that someone stole your Santa.”
I nodded emphatically.
“They did!” I growled, hit all over again with the anger that I’d been plagued with. “Off my roof!”
His brows rose to his hairline, and his lips widened into a smile at how angry my voice sounded.
“I thought that it was on your side porch,” he said. “Who put it on your roof?”
I pointed to my chest.
“Me,” I indicated myself.
He blinked, then leaned forward.
“You got on your roof?” he asked. “You have a two story roof.”
I nodded.
I would know if I had a two story roof or not.
Why was he not more upset about someone stealing my Santa like I was?
His mouth thinned into a straight line as his eyes narrowed.
“Was anyone there to help you?” he continued.
I shook my head.
“Mr. Craddock kept egging me on, but other than that, no; no one helped me,” I told him. “I stapled him to the roof with my staple gun.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I nervously started to clench and unclench my hands on my purse.
The sound of snack cake wrappers brought my attention to my bag, and I smiled as I took out the snack cakes and started tossing them over to him.
“I brought these for you,” desperate to change the subject I could feel taking a bad turn.
The snack cakes hit the couch next to his legs, five in all, and settled against his thigh as I pulled out a bottle of milk.
“I wasn’t sure they were going to let me bring these over here,” I added. “But they didn’t say anything. It said on the website that if something wasn’t allowed, they would confiscate it until I left.”