Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I watch as she climbs into her car, giving me one last look as she cranks it. I don't feel any relief when her eyes shift as she pulls out of the parking lot.
I wait until her taillights disappear around the first curve in the road before going to my bike. I sit on the damn thing, waiting another ten minutes, trying to talk myself out of ending up at her place. I don't have to follow behind her to know where she's heading. I have all the information Ace was able to find already stored in my head, including her home address and cell phone number.
Knowing I need to head back to the house and reevaluate doesn't stop me from cranking my bike and heading in her direction.
It feels like days since I saw her last rather than half an hour by the time I park my bike a little over a mile from her house. The walk to get closer to her seems to take forever.
She lives in a small neighborhood that has been packed with single-family homes, something I've discovered is common in this part of Tennessee, in any location where there's a flat surface. I wouldn't doubt if half of these places are short-term rentals for tourists. I've heard conversations of locals complaining about rich men from Ohio coming in and buying all the property over the asking price and driving taxes and property values up so high that no one born here can afford to live here any longer.
In addition to owning the bar, Tommy Wilkinson owns the house she's renting. Financial records indicate she's paying rent, which makes me feel a little better about the position she's in where he's concerned.
I stand in the shadows, my shoulder leaning against a tree until the lights in her home go dark. Now would be the best time to head back to base, but my head is invaded with thoughts of her snuggled up in her bed, losing the battle of masturbating to the thoughts of what happened between us tonight. When I start to harden once again, I know I have to get the fuck out of Dodge.
If I stay any longer, I'm going to listen to that whisper that tells me to kick in her front door and take what she was so readily offering me not long ago. The idea that she'd want it then is beyond fucked up and will end up with me in jail and there's no way for me to shut down the possible trafficking ring run by Wilkinson from a jail cell.
Chapter 8
Zara
"Because they'll never meet."
I slow blink at Randy, a regular who is grinning from ear to ear, as if he's just told the funniest joke in the world.
"Get it?"
I shake my head, my smile still in place.
He holds his hands up, facing each other in front of him. "Parallel lines run like this."
"It's a math joke," Jersey adds, but he isn't laughing either. "Why is it sad parallel lines have so much in common? Because they'll never meet."
Randy snorts another laugh, making me chuckle just by his response.
"You have to come up with a better one than that," Jersey tells the man.
"I told you after the last joke that you didn't need to cheer me up," I repeat. "I'm fine."
"Any woman who has ever said they were fine was never fine," Jersey mutters.
"I'm not your concern," I remind him, but he doesn't look any less curious about why my smiles haven't been as frequent the last couple of days.
I hate that others around me are paying so close attention to me in the first place. The concern is nice, but it's coming from men who have no business worrying about me. Billy was more concerned about everything that was going on outside of our home to even notice if I were in a bad mood.
I mistakenly thought for a brief second the other night that Owen was concerned for my safety, but as it turns out, he was just some asshole that wanted to scare the shit out of me. It probably should've scared me, but there was just something different in his eyes that made his grip on my throat more enthralling than threatening.
"How many monsters are good at math?" Randy continues, because the guy just isn't that great at reading social cues. "None if you Count Dracula."
His cackle makes me grin wider, and although I told him I wasn't upset, the laughter is actually helping some.
Jersey must see the change in me because he grins a little too.
"Another beer?" I ask Randy after he stops snorting.
I walk away when he shakes his head.
Another two hours before closing time, and just like the last three shifts I've worked, I know they're going to drag by. I know when I turn the lights off and step outside that my pulse is going to race in anticipation of him being out there again, despite not having seen hide nor hair of him since I drove away Sunday night.