Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Didn’t change the fact I wanted her more than I could remember wanting anything. Ever.
How fucked up is that? I knew I didn’t deserve her.
Didn’t stop me from wanting, though.
The device cracked in distress when it struck the inside of the passenger door.
I started up the Jeep, pulled out of the lot with dust spilling off my tires, and headed to the one place I’d been fighting going to because I knew stepping foot in Whitecaps could seriously end it all for me, but I was desperate and stupid and gone.
Day two into my madness. I no longer gave a shit about consequences.
Throwing the gear into Park, I cut the engine and got out, the slam of the door still echoing in my ear as I ascended the stairs and tore inside the restaurant with eyes scanning for red.
It had been months since I came here. I couldn’t remember the last time. Jamie frequented and Cole tagged along when he was free, but I usually kept to eating at the shop or picking somewhere within walking distance.
Once I found out Sydney worked here, I definitely stayed away.
“Hello, welcome to Whitecaps.”
Not spotting who I was here for, I turned to the woman standing in front of me with a menu poised at the ready.
She was tiny. Chin-length dark hair held out of her face with a skull and crossbones bandanna, bright red lips, and black-lined eyes.
Vaguely, I thought I recognized her as one of the girls Wild was with the night she went Mike Tyson on a Corvette.
Her name tag read Shay in swirled purple and black marker.
“Sydney here?” I asked, watching her eyebrows slowly knit together.
“No, sorry, she called out. I think she’s still sick.” The woman drew the menu against her chest. “Are you friends?”
Still sick.
She wasn’t sick. Not in the way this pocket-sized pixie was referring to. I knew that.
And knowing what happened between us was keeping Syd from a job I knew she loved more than her last one; on top of everything else I’d been feeling recently, I started feeling sick right along with her.
“Sir?”
I sighed and squeezed the back of my neck, then looked at the woman.
“No,” I answered firmly.
We weren’t friends. We weren’t anything.
She smiled politely.
“Just one of you? Or are you waiting for people?”
I was already turned around and halfway to the door when I mumbled an obvious and unnecessary, “Not staying.”
* * *
Beer number two in my hand, I leaned with elbows on the rail of my deck and stared out at the sunset-kissed waves over the light crowd settled on the beach.
Gorgeous night. Still hot as shit out, making the water a good temperature, I imagined.
Wasn’t like I was getting in it and enjoying myself.
Called Syd three more times since I got home from Whitecaps an hour ago between doing a whole fuckuva lot of nothing else, and believe it or not, I was growing sick of the sweet voice I never thought I’d get enough of.
If she asked me one more fucking time to leave a message after the beep, I was going to kill someone.
I inhaled deep, searching for calm but coming up short.
I was on edge and standing out here wasn’t helping. I should’ve known. Tried it yesterday and found no relief doing it, but I didn’t have anything else, so here I was doing it again.
If I wasn’t calling Syd, I was staring at her picture, and if I wasn’t doing that, I was out here, phone inside and a safe distance away from the water, because I knew if I dialed her standing on the deck and she hadn’t turned her shit on, I’d leave my message and then toss that fucker into the ocean.
Couldn’t have that happen, could I?
Movement stirred my awareness, and I slid my eyes to it. I spotted Jamie walking back to the house with his board under his arm.
“What up?” he yelled from below, propping his board against a post and taking the stairs rapidly.
I shook my head with the bottle to my lips, swallowed some Corona, and kept looking out at the water.
Jamie hit the planks below my feet and strolled my way.
“Fuck, Dash. You get some incurable STD from one of those bitches or somethin’? Shit.”
I turned my head to Jamie. “What?”
“Look at you.” He came to a stop a foot away, jutted his chin at me, then pushed salty wet hair out of his eyes. “You’re making me depressed, man, and I don’t even get remotely sad, you know that, but I’m on the brink. The fuckin’ brink, Dash. What’s up with you?”
I cut my eyes away.
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Bullshit,” he shot back, sounding a second away from throwing a punch and, thus, earning my eyes again. “You’ve been moping around the past two days, barely speaking to anyone including customers at work, who even after that shit went down four months ago, you still kept it professional and did your job, spoke to everybody who stopped in and acted like you wanted to be there. Now you’re barely doin’ that. If it keeps up, me or Cole are gonna have to start droppin’ lessons so we can hang around and make sure shit is gettin’ sold.”