Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Does that seem a little extreme to you?”
“More than a little,” Niko said, tapping on his keyboard again. “Look, I’m going to follow your father’s trail to the next woman, but my initial steps in that direction don’t seem promising. There doesn’t appear to be any major financial gains since his split from your mother. He parties with guys who own yachts, but he never owns the yacht, make sense?”
“Yeah.” Sig massaged his eye sockets. “Keep looking, please.”
“On it.”
An hour later, a distracted Sig had gone back to packing sold memorabilia, weighing each package, and hitting print on shipping labels. Slapping them on. Busywork that was becoming less and less effective in stopping him from dwelling on the fruitless call from Niko . . . and preventing him from texting Chloe. Or better yet, driving to her apartment. Evening had fallen, meaning she would be home. Probably heating up soup on the stove. Smashing up Saltine crackers to sprinkle over the top. The Home Shopping Network would be on in the living room. She’d paint her toenails later and talk to the hosts, as if they could hear her.
Goddamn, she was so cute.
Sig realized he was staring into space and dropped the tape, raking a hand down his face. He paced away from the table, his attention drawn to the keys to his truck where they hung by the front door, directly above his gear bag. Maybe he’d just drive over there and drop off some strawberry Pop-Tarts. She was fresh out—he knew that.
He also knew she wouldn’t be able to find them anywhere in her neighborhood.
Technically, he had no choice but to turn up at her front door. Otherwise, what the hell was she going to eat for breakfast tomorrow? Was he going to let the girl starve?
Decision made, Sig marched into his kitchen and opened the cabinet holding a multitude of Pop-Tarts boxes. At least a hundred of them, maybe more. Strawberry only. They’d all been purchased in the North End at every deli and grocery store in a ten-block radius of Chloe’s apartment. She could never find them herself. The stores were always cleaned out. All because sometimes Sig needed an actual reason to show up at her place that wasn’t I needed to see you so I could breathe—and the Tarts were his ticket.
He’d only closed a hand around one of the boxes when the door buzzed.
Sig turned from the cabinet with a confused look, arm dropping. Who the hell was that?
Maybe it was Mailer dropping off some autographed shirts—he’d forgotten to bring them to practice that afternoon and swore he’d get them to Sig as soon as possible.
Even though the rookie showing up at his place was odd, Sig buzzed the guy in and unchained the door to his apartment, leaving it slightly ajar. Then he went back to the kitchen and uncapped two beers, getting ready to offer one to Mailer as a thank you—
But Chloe walked into the apartment, instead.
Chloe.
In his fucking apartment.
With a bulldog on a leash, but that was somehow the least pressing issue.
The cold bottle of Sam Adams paused halfway to Sig’s mouth, his blood pounding loudly and suddenly in his temples, the walls of his apartment beating like the ventricles of a heart. And speaking of hearts, his dropped like a boulder into his stomach. Thunk.
She’d never been there before. For a lot of reasons. So many reasons.
“Chlo.” Sig fumbled the beers onto the counter, reached up, and slammed the cabinet containing the Pop-Tarts shut. Thankfully, due to the angle of where she stood just inside the entryway, she couldn’t see the contents. Christ, how would he even begin to explain that? I’m so lost for you. I’m so pathetically lost. “What are you doing here?”
She stared at him for several seconds, before transferring the dog leash to the opposite hand in order to close the apartment door. “I was sitting on my couch and I just kept waiting for you to walk in. When I realized you weren’t going to come, I guess . . .” Trailing off, she wet her lips. Glanced around, taking in the small living room, the old furniture, though he couldn’t gauge her reaction. Could she hide her shock so easily? “I started wondering why it’s a given that you’ll always come to me. I can get here just as easily, you know?”
Sig didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He was too busy wanting to cover her eyes so she couldn’t see anything else. The wires hanging down from his flat screen. The old rug under his coffee table. The dining room table full of memorabilia. God, especially that.
He was so busy cataloging everything in his apartment he didn’t want Chloe to see that he didn’t catch her staring at the two bottles of beer. Not until she said, very quietly, “Are you expecting someone?” Some of the color left her face. “Should I go?”