Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“Come on. Let’s dance.” Jenna and Stephanie tug the guys onto the floor despite their protests.
“I’ll order another round,” I offer, waving them off. I’m not exactly in the mood for dancing, even if it would be healthier than sitting here wondering what Callum’s doing and if he’s figured out I’m coming home late tonight.
The guy behind the bar winks when he notices me waiting. “So, you found a way to fill up all that free time?”
I can’t believe he remembers our conversation. Maybe he does actually like me. Sorry, but somebody else got to me first and sort of ruined me for all other men forever. The fact he wants to kill me is irrelevant.
“Yeah, I’ve been at this new job for a while. It’s going well.” A glance over my shoulder reveals the girls coaxing the guys into at least mimicking the idea of dancing. They’re… trying.
He snickers, watching them along with me. “Whatever it is you do, I hope it has nothing to do with having coordination. Or rhythm.”
I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it. “No, they wouldn’t last long, would they?”
The phone behind the bar rings, and he turns away to answer it, grabbing the vodka bottle as he does. “Yes?”
Instantly, his head turns, his gaze aimed at a tinted window on the upper level. It sits smack in the middle of the wall, flanked on both sides by tables for guests. “Okay. Yes, of course. Will do.” He hangs up and begins pulling our drinks together without looking back my way.
I glance up toward the window, wondering what that is all about, but there’s no seeing what or who is on the other side. The owner’s office, I suppose. Maybe they don’t like the employees getting too chatty when they should be working.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I shiver involuntarily. I’d swear whoever is up there is watching me. You’re turning into a paranoid weirdo. Tatum would laugh herself sick if she knew how jumpy and anxious I’ve become. I wish she’d come home, but there’s no end date in sight, and it’s impossible to pin her down long enough for a conversation. She can only talk for a short time when I call her. I text her and get no response. I’m really worried about her, but I have no proof or reason to be.
A burst of laughter startles me into shooting a look toward the entrance. It’s just one of those things you do. Somebody screams or laughs loudly out of nowhere, and you turn to see what the big deal is.
Turns out, the big deal is my ex-boyfriend, surrounded by a bunch of his gym buddies. I recognize them from his uncle’s gym. He’s hung out with them before, and I recognize the swagger he puts on when he’s trying to impress them.
Why did he have to hang out with them tonight, and even worse, why did it have to be here? Why does it have to be while I’m dressed for Casual Friday and not for a night out? I angle myself away from the door and hope he didn’t see me.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re here hoping I’ll show up.” He’s right behind me, like he was purposely headed this way.
I speak without turning his way, staring pointedly at the bottles lined up behind the bar. “Do you really think my intention of being here was hoping to run into you? I know you’re not the best at being honest with yourself, but come on, you know better.”
“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he mutters.
Do not take the bait. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’m here with friends from work, same as you are.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t like to have fun when we were together. I might have stuck around more nights.”
I spin on my heel, my face burning and my heart racing. No, I didn’t think I’d get lucky enough to never see him again but could I maybe have gone a little longer without having to come face to face with him?
“Is this guy bothering you?” Jenna appears out of nowhere and steps right up to him, arms folded, while Stephanie steps in line beside me. I didn’t realize they were paying attention, but I am so glad they were. Not because I’m scared, but because I’m afraid I’d have to smash a bottle upside his head if I didn’t have them to back me up.
“Not anymore,” I tell them, staring straight into the eyes of a stranger. Because that’s what he’s always been. I never really knew him—I wouldn’t let myself know him or let myself see the things I wanted to ignore because it would mean admitting I had wasted all those years.