Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I climb into Tate’s SUV and pull out my phone.
Me: So sick. Can’t make it tonight.
Russell: Don’t bullshit me. The cops were here. Why haven’t you returned my calls?
I don’t know why I didn’t think the cops would go asking questions. I guess I was hoping they wouldn’t. Shit like this looks bad on the studio, which means it can get me canned.
Me: It wasn’t a big deal. Please, just one night off. I need it. I’m in no shape to work.
And I’m not. Thinking about Chad’s sleazy hands on me has a chill racing down my back.
“You good?” Tate asks.
I realize I’ve coddled myself. Relaxing, I reply. “Yep. Fine.” My phone vibrates.
Russell: I need you back here tomorrow.
Me: Deal. Smooches.
“I know it’s none of my business, but why do you go to that yippy yoga place?”
I lift my eyes from my phone. “Why not? It’s the best studio in town. Glenda’s a miracle worker.” And she is. I’ve never been in better shape.
“Doesn’t seem like your style. Bitchy rich women who gossip and have nothing nice to say. I know plenty of places with great instructors, minus the snobbery.”
I’m not sure I appreciate him calling me out. It’s the truth, but to hear him say it stings. Crossing my arms over my chest, I face the window. “I didn’t choose it. My boss did. Russell believes his girls need to be in top shape. It’s what keeps us employed. He referred me. Paid for my first few sessions. Of course, I got hooked, and even though it costs about as much as my rent, I can’t give it up. Even if it’s filled with snobby, rich bitches.” I twist to face him. “Does that answer suffice?”
“Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” I reply, snippier than intended.
“You seem—”
“I seem like I don’t need to explain myself to you. You’re here to protect me, not judge me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Hey, Phil…” I put my phone to my ear. There’s no Phil, and this is childish, but I’m done with this conversation. He lets it go, also knowing there’s no Phil, and does what he’s being paid to do.
When we get back to my apartment, he does a sweep and waves me in with an all-clear. I push past him and disappear into my bedroom, staying there for hours. I try to sleep, meditate, and read, but nothing settles the anxiousness in my chest. Maybe I should see if I can pick up a shift at Bev’s. When I text Harry, he replies, saying they’re fully staffed.
I can’t stay in my room much longer. I’m burning a hole in the carpet with my pacing and about to crawl through my skin—and the only TV I have is in the living room.
Screw it.
I don’t care what he’s watching. This is my place. We’re going to watch what I want. Opening my door, I strut down the hallway, which is only like four steps, and turn, placing my palms on my hips, ready to tell him who’s boss. To my surprise, he’s not watching anything. He’s just sitting there.
“What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“On what, boring yourself to death? Do you not know how to turn on a television?”
“I don’t watch TV.”
I feel my eyeballs to ensure they haven’t popped out of their sockets. “What?”
“I don’t watch TV.”
“What are you, a psychopath? Everyone watches TV.” I’m on the move, snagging the remote and pushing at his shoulder. “Move over.” I don’t factor in that he’s already taking up most of the couch, so when I slam my butt down, my thigh smashes up against his. I ignore the spark that shoots down my leg and tickles my toes, hoping he doesn’t notice the goosebumps covering my bare arms. “If I have to suffer through your presence, you’re going to learn a few things. One being the joy of television. There’s this thing called streaming—s-t-r-e-a-m—”
“I know what streaming is. Jesus. I wasn’t born under a rock. I just don’t watch it.”
“And why not? Television is amazing. It gives us glimpses into the outside world. Other people’s lives. I mean, hello, reality TV.”
“Nope.” He looks down at me, his expression still blank.
“You’re a monster.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but today, we’re going to change that.” I flip on the TV and go to my saved shows. “I’ll let you choose. Vanderpump Rules, Housewives, Love is Blind, or The Bachelor?”
“None of the above.”
“Wrong answer. Oh! There’s also Love at First Sight. It’s a total shitshow. But amazing. I mean, these people are hot messes. Every single one of them.”
“How about the news?”
I scoff. “Gross. Who wants to watch the news? It’s depressing. I’d rather watch Kiki from Housewives of Las Vegas complain about her waxing lady missing a fuzz patch on her anus.” I queue up the TV apps and take charge. “Fine, I’m choosing. Oh, we can watch Survivor. That’s probably more up your alley.” I watch a preview. “Or not.” I flip through some more. “Housewives of Las Vegas it is.”