Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Stop. Seriously. Proof first, and then we can continue this conversation. Black clothing and strange sleeping patterns don’t count either.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I please go back to bed now? You do realize it’s Tuesday morning and I have class all day?”
“Yeah. But I also know you’d need to be up getting ready soon. And there’s nothing bad in getting up a little earlier.”
“Sometimes I wonder why we’re even friends.” But she said it with a light, teasing tone.
“Love you too,” I snap back, also in a lighter tone.
I hang up, set my phone down on the island, and gulp back the rest of the disgusting coffee. It tastes like an old sock was boiled in there instead of coffee grounds. Gross.
Because I have nothing else to do, I make a fresh pot. I take my new, steaming, not-so-gym-socky mug of coffee and sit down at the table with my phone, a notepad, and a pen.
Installing some cameras around the house for my own safety, as well as for a little after-hours spying, isn’t such a bad idea. If Leanne wants proof, I’ll get her proof. I’m 99.999999999% sure something sketchy is going down in my neighbor’s house.
I’m past caring that he’s hot as shit. I mean, literally. No, not literally. Shit isn’t hot unless you pile it in a bag on someone’s doorstep and light it on fire. Okay, I think I’m seriously sleep-deprived. Thanks a lot, you stupid spider.
My new goal for today is to find the spider and get rid of it, so I can sleep peacefully tonight, and take down my neighbor before he has a chance to make use of all that plastic plastered in his living room.
And right. Travel articles. Because I have deadlines and have to make a living.
But first, cameras.
Then the spider.
Then maybe I can relax long enough to think about doing some writing.
CHAPTER 6
Wade
I roll into some godforsaken little pub in the rougher part of downtown at just after seven. Rob is already there. I spot him and head over to the table he’s reserved for us. He chose well. It’s backed into a tight corner, and he’s left the shadowy seat for me. No one else would want to sit there, but it’s obviously perfect.
When I pull out the seat and sit down heavily, Rob’s brows shoot up. He looks the same as always—short dark hair, dark eyes, dark brows, and olive skin that tans a dark bronze in the summer from his work framing buildings outdoors. Or supervising now, as it was. The guy doesn’t need to workout. He gets enough exercise on the job. He’s sporting his usual black t-shirt and jeans combo.
“The beard is a nice touch.” He does his best to smother his grin.
“Shut up,” I growl.
The fake beard itches like it’s filled with fleas. The thing might have been made of shaved off animal fur for all I know. My mom, of all people, sent it in the mail. I can’t tell if she thought it would actually be useful or if she just wanted to have herself a good laugh. Whatever the reason, I glued the thing on following the instructions. I’m wearing my normal black ensemble, but I pulled the hoodie away from my ball cap before walking into the pub.
“Caught a cab here?”
“Yeah. I ditched my car a ten minutes’ walk from my parent’s place. I’ll cab back and try to get in through the alley.”
“I’ve driven by a few times this week. It looks like the media all gave up and went home a few weeks ago. I haven’t seen anything suspicious in forever.”
“I wish they’d forget about me that easily.”
A young blonde kid with curly hair and blue eyes who doesn’t look old enough to even know what a beer is, let alone be serving them, comes around. Rob orders two of something on tap. I stay silent. I don’t actually care what it is. Rob has the same taste. As long as it’s pale and cold, I’m good.
That’s exactly what the kid plunks down on the beat-up wood table a few minutes later. I take a second to admire the tall pint glass. The bubbles rise from the bottom of the glass to the foam on the top, and at the sight of it, my mouth waters. It was hot out. The cab I took didn’t have air-conditioning on, and no amount of cranking down the windows helped. The evening is disgustingly humid even though the sun has lost its full force.
“So?” Rob sips at his beer. “You got my package?”
“No. What package?” I blink in confusion.
“Nothing.” Rob shakes his head, but there’s a mischievous smirk tugging at his mouth, which tells me it is definitely not nothing.
I can’t imagine what he would have mailed me. I don’t think I want to know. Knowing him, it’s probably some prank thing that will be terrible but will also cheer me up. Rob has a sick sense of humor, but we’ve been friends for so long that some of it has rubbed off on me.