Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
God had to work hard not to frown at the small lady. He was sure she was a nice enough woman and could probably provide him some decent entertainment, but his mind was somewhere else… on someone else.
She batted large brown eyes that were enhanced with a little too much makeup, her lips painted a deep shade of red. Her hair was in a classic bob cut and framed her blushed cheeks.
“That will be two hundred dollars for a week,” the clerk said around a wide smile.
God winced a little internally at the price. His payday was next week, but he had to make the three hundred and seventy-two dollars in his bank account last until then.
The clerk continued, “We have cable and Wi-Fi, there’s a small workout room on the first floor, there’s ice and vending machines on each floor, and a free continental breakfast on the weekends from six to eight in the morning.”
“I’ll take one with a king-size bed if you have it,” God responded drily.
“No problem. Are you checking in anyone? Are you sharing the room?” she questioned.
“Single, please, and first floor if you have one.” God didn’t want to lead this woman on, but he didn’t want to pay an extra charge either for checking in two people.
The clerk did a terrible job at concealing her excitement. She asked for his license and pecked away at the computer.
“You’ll be in room 165 on the bottom, around the back.”
“Anything on the front?” God asked. He liked to see who was coming and going.
“Anything for you.” She winked, and he had to restrain from sucking his teeth and rolling his eyes. Whatever happened to professionalism?
“Okay. How about room 114, it's right there.” She pointed out the window. He didn’t turn around to look. He signed the papers that said he’d be a good guest or else pay the consequences, and went for the key card in her outstretched hand. When he tried to extract it from her claws, she jerked it back toward her and asked in what she thought was a sexy voice, “How about I come turn down the bed for you? We offer that to our special guests.”
“Good thing I’m nothing special,” God grumbled and pulled the key card from her.
He heard her mumble on his way out the door. “Some motherfuckers are so blind; they can’t see a good thing when it’s staring them right in the face.”
God actually thought that was hilarious, but the irony was not lost on him. Day had been there in his face all along, and he’d missed it. Now he may have pushed Day out of his life for good… literally. God was still beating himself up for putting his hands on Day like that. But even worse was that Day had gotten up and still tried to help him.
He fit the card into the slot. When the light went from red to green he opened the door, entering the dark, damp room. He flicked the light on the wall and let the door slam shut and lock automatically behind him. Dropping the bag at the foot of the bed, he dug in his pocket for the pain pills Jax had left him and popped two in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He peeled off his coat and placed his holster and weapons in the one drawer in the bedside table right next to the Gideon Bible.
A hot shower and a little food might help how he felt. But he doubted anything could take away the vision he kept having of Day flying over the bed and slamming into his dresser. God squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.
Too much happened in that room at once. God wasn’t seeing straight. Genesis was beating the hell out of him. Day had violated his trust. His hood-rat neighbors had barged into his home and choked his brother. God had so much medication coursing through him he’d reacted without thinking.
Now he wanted to call Day so badly, but he needed to let things cool off between them. Then he’d have to figure out how he was going to make it up to him.
God opened up the brown shopping bag and emptied the contents onto the small dining table. He’d stopped and picked up some orange juice, a few cans of soup since his throat was still a little sore, some paper utensils, and some snacks. He poured some soup in a bowl and popped it in a microwave that was small enough to pass as an Easy Bake Oven.
God dumped his toiletries bag on the bathroom sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like day-old shit. His deep wavy hair was all over the place, his beard had no contour to it, and his eyes looked like he’d just smoked crack. He rubbed his hands over his face and blew an exasperated breath.