Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
She kind of flinches, tilting her head side to side, thinking. “I’m not sure how much that’s true. I wouldn’t rule him out, honestly.”
“Oh God.”
“Relax.” She laughs quietly. “My guess is Iron. But I sure wish I could stick around and watch this one play out.”
No, thanks. I’d rather endure this mess only I could get into without my friends spectating.
Liv comes out with a pie box, holding it by the string.
“I’ve got to go,” Clay tells me.
I rise and move with her toward the door. “Lighthouse?”
“Back to my mom’s, actually. She’s away.” She does a little dance. “We’re gonna skinny-dip before Liv’s flight.”
I’ve seen girls skinny-dip in the Jaeger pool, but obviously Liv’s going to want Clay naked in private. Understandable.
“Have fun,” I tell her.
She gives me a hug. “Are you going to be okay? We can stay over here if you’re uncomfortable …”
“Go.” I push her toward the door. “I’ll be over on my side of town tonight. I’m not staying.”
Liv embraces me quickly, and they both leave, climbing into Clay’s old Bronco. I’ll see Liv at Thanksgiving, but … this was the last time she’d see Iron outside of …
My throat tightens.
Three and a half years.
But instead of sadness and pity, I’m mad at him. Then I lock eyes with him, seeing his narrow on me, because he can tell something is wrong. But I just head over to Paisleigh instead. She’s stopped eating and is tearing her napkin into strips, puzzling them back together.
“Ready to go?” I chirp.
“Can we come back tomorrow?”
“You’ve got school tomorrow.”
She drops her head back in dramatic disappointment like kindergarten is living hell. I pick up her sketchbook and markers, stuffing everything into her backpack. I take her hand and start to walk out, but I crash into someone and look up. Two men have entered the restaurant, dressed casually in slacks in a pathetic attempt to blend in, but they’re Cucinelli. My father wears them. Tourists don’t.
Their short-sleeved button-ups are pressed, and I can smell the leather scent all rich men pick up somewhere in their day. Their briefcases. Shoes. BMW seats.
The dark blond one doesn’t look at me, but I know him. I squeeze Paisleigh’s hand.
“Ouch,” she whines.
They take a seat at a small table next to the windows, and I pull her behind me, over to the Jaegers. “Is one of my cars ready yet?” I ask Army.
“I don’t know. I—”
“Probably,” Iron interrupts, starting to rise. “Here, I’ll walk over with you. Macon needs dinner anyway.”
“It’s fine. I can do it myself.”
I don’t want to get into it with him again. He stranded me over here with my little sister today. I mean, I could’ve gotten a ride somewhere, I’m sure, but he doesn’t think, and it’s not cute.
He stares at me. “I’ll take you.”
“You’ve been enough help,” I snap.
Trace scarfs down his food, Dallas standing next to the window, eating a sandwich and never really relaxing. Army is nearly finished. On workdays, they skip lunch, and my stomach growls as I realize I did today, too.
I reach over and grab the food off the counter that I’m taking to go for Mars, Paisleigh, and me, but I stop and lean in a little, speaking low as I look at Army. “The two guys by the window,” I tell him. “One is from the health department. The other is Garrett Ames.”
His eyes flash to the table mid-chew, the last bite of his burger pinched between his fingers. He swallows. “How do you know the first one is from the health department?”
“He goes to my church.”
“You go to church?” Dallas asks.
Trace snorts, and I hold back my eye roll. They literally sent their sister to the same Catholic school.
I lock eyes with Army again. “Garrett Ames doesn’t come to places like this, is my point,” I whisper. “Just letting you know.”
I’m not sure what they can do to find out why he’s here, and with a health inspector, but it’s not for the food. Whatever magic the Jaegers weave, arms they twist, or people they bribe to hold on to everything they have here, they better get on it.
I see Iron staring at the men, his shoulders squared and his jaw flexed.
“Walk me,” I tell him, changing my mind.
He doesn’t seem to hear me, and I can only imagine what he’s planning.
“Walk me,” I growl.
He needs to get out of here before he tacks on another five years to his sentence. Jesus.
Pushing away from the table, he grabs his phone and takes the brown bag stapled shut on top of the counter. We leave, Iron holding open the door for my sister and me.
“You coming back tomorrow?” he asks, his stride slowing to match mine, because mine matches Paisleigh’s short one.
“Why?”
I’m not sure if I’m asking why I should take the job, or why he seems to want me to, but he just stares at the ground, and I’m taken aback by the smile that he’s almost hiding.