Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“I get it,” I say, smiling. “Maybe I could ask him …?”
“No, that’s all right,” she says, giving me that fake smile again that she always gives me when she doesn’t want me to see any weakness. In that light, we’re the same. Small moments of shared feelings and traits are where I find solace with her, so I have to treasure it. And I need to pull her out of that negativity right now. So I sit down on the couch beside her and place my hand on her knee.
“So what would you like to eat?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation.
She puts down the tea she made herself. “Oh, well, I’ve already taken care of that.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, this nice gentleman on the phone who said he was your friend wanted to bring takeout, so I gave him your address.”
My eyes widen, and I immediately jump up from the couch. “You did what?”
“Well, you weren’t going to still cook for us, were you? He sounded so nice, and he wanted to stop by. Why not?” she says.
But I’m already panicking, pacing back and forth while sweating profusely.
“No, Mom, what was his name?” I ask.
“I don’t know, something with a D ... Daniel … no that wasn’t it,” she mumbles.
“Declan! It was him, wasn’t it?” I say.
“Yes, that’s it,” she replies.
“No!”
“Why are you yelling at me?” She grabs her tea and takes a sip.
“You invited someone into my home!” And not to mention who. Oh my God, Declan. He’s coming over, and I am not prepared.
“So?”
“It’s my house!” I say, groaning. “Fuck.” Of course, he’d ask her for my address. I should’ve known he’d apply some shady tactics to find out where I live.
“Kat, really? Language, please,” Mom huffs, making me sigh out loud.
Now I have to solve this shit again. Why the hell would she give him my address? Goddammit, she’s so gullible sometimes. Always trusting the wrong people … just like me.
I quickly sift through my purse, looking for the phone, but it’s not here.
“Where is it?” I ask her.
“What?”
“The phone!”
I know I’m yelling, but I need to call him before he gets here.
“It’s on the kitchen counter,” she replies.
I run like my ass is on fire, grabbing the thing to immediately dial his number.
But it’s too late … because my doorbell rings at the same time the telephone is beeping.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Oh, food’s here!” Mom casually says, getting up from the couch with a smile on her face. “About time.”
I’m stunned. Completely in shock as the doorbell rings again and my mom walks over to it like she owns the place. “You grab the plates, honey,” she says. “I’ll let him in.”
“No, don’t!” I say in a last-ditch effort.
But it’s too late. She’s already opened the door.
Declan’s standing right there with two bags in one hand and his phone pressed against his ear in the other. And when he opens his mouth to speak, I can hear it on the other end of the line, echoing through my own phone.
“Hi, KittyKat.”
Fuck.
Chapter 22
Declan
I slowly lower the phone in my hand when she does too, tucking it into my pocket. The twitching on her face makes me grin like a motherfucker. I’d say she’s angry, but that’s probably an understatement.
“Hi there,” I say to her mother to defuse the situation. “You must be her sister, right?”
Her mom chuckles as her cheeks glow rosy. “Oh, nonsense. You know I’m her mother.” We shake hands. “I’m Meredith.”
“Nice to meet you, Meredith. Name’s Declan Porter.”
Meanwhile, Kat looks like she’s about to turn into an exploding volcano.
So I hold up the bag filled with Chinese takeout as a peace offering. “Hungry?”
“Mom, close the door,” Kat says through gritted teeth.
“Why would I do that?” her mom says. “He brought us food. That’s more than you’ve done today.”
I snort, trying to hide the laughter in my sleeve. Why do I have the feeling they don’t get along very well?
Kat winces as she marches toward me. “Mom, let me talk with him, please.”
As her mom steps aside, she clutches the door and holds it tight. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing food to hungry people, what else?” I muse, shoving one of the bags into her hand. “And your clothes.”
She blinks a couple of times. “What—”
“The ones you left at the hotel. From the event,” I interrupt. I wink, which makes her eyes twitch in annoyance.
“Stop. Just stop,” she says, throwing the clothing bag in a corner of the room. “All this?” She points at me and the bags. “I see right through this.”
“Great. Do you like what you see, or should I have bought some more stir-fry?” I jest while holding up the Chinese. It’s hard not to when she’s looking at me with those vulture eyes. It makes me want to push her buttons to see how far she’d let me go before she explodes.