Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“I did,” he grunts. “No one else was barging in to save you. To be honest, I think they were all wanting to see you beat the shit out of that guy.”
I scoff. Not doubting him for a second, I look up to meet his stare and give him a tight smile. “Look, I umm . . . thanks for the offer, but I’m not really down with accepting rides from perfect strangers, but thanks though. I’m just gonna order an Uber and get my ass home.”
“Alright, your call,” he says, putting his hands up to show he won’t push this.
He gives me a comforting smile and nods before starting to walk away, and as he goes, I can’t help but selfishly wonder just how much sooner I could be home if I didn’t have to wait for an Uber.
Shit.
“Wait,” I call out, jogging after him. The guy turns back to me, patiently waiting with his brow arched in question. “Are you a serial killer?” I ask with a cringe.
The handsome stranger laughs, and the sound makes me feel somewhat relaxed. “No,” he says. “Not today, anyway.”
“Ha-ha. Funny,” I mutter. “A rapist?”
“Nope.”
Dammit. Why do I want to go with him so badly? It’s clear this guy is just trying to help, but I have no idea why, and that’s the only thing holding me back. I cross my arms over my aching chest and narrow my gaze at him. “What’s your deal?” I question.
“Huh?” he grunts, taken aback by my question, but still clearly amused. “What do you mean what’s my deal? I’m just trying to offer a pretty woman a little help.”
I narrow my gaze. “I’m not buying it.”
He lets out a sigh. “Okay. Honest truth?” he questions with a cringe.
“Uhh, yeah.”
His lips pull into a lopsided grin, and suddenly he’s no longer handsome. No, he’s ruggedly sexy with boyish charm, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder what it would be like to be his girl. “I saw you a few lights back and thought you were fucking gorgeous, then the crash happened, and I figured I’d shoot my shot while I had the chance. I was going to talk you into a date tomorrow night.”
Wow. He really is honest. I mean, he has no chance, but props for trying. If I had never met Carter and he had never destroyed me, I probably would have gone out with the guy just to scratch an itch, but I’m just not ready. Though, what I am ready for is the bottles of Moscato waiting for me on my kitchen counter.
“I’m flattered, thank you. But I’m damaged goods,” I tell him, being a little too honest when a straight-up no thanks would have sufficed. “If you knew the mess my ex left me in, you’d understand. But I’m kinda hoping that doesn’t mean the offer is off the table for a ride home. I’m close by. Only five minutes from here.”
He gives me a fond smile, something honest and reassuring in his eyes. “Sure thing,” he tells me, laying on the charm that still has no effect on my nether region. He leads me over to his Dodge RAM and helps me in. “I’m Byron, by the way.”
“Brianna,” I reply.
Byron gets in the driver’s seat, and I direct him to the apartment complex next to mine, because, well . . . you never know, and I turn to him with a grateful smile, pleased to find I’m still alive. “Thanks for not killing me,” I say, opening the door.
“No problem,” he says as I go to make a hasty escape, only he calls out, pulling me up short. “Hey, I know you said you weren’t down for anything just yet, but umm . . .” he pauses, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card before offering it to me. “Just in case you change your mind.”
Not wanting to be rude, I reach in and take the card, knowing it’ll be dumped straight in my trash the moment I walk through my door. “Thanks,” I say with an awkward smile, and the second I step back from his truck, Byron takes off, finally leaving me be.
Walking to my apartment complex next door, I pull my phone out of my pocket and bring up Cassie’s number. Hitting call, I hold the phone to my ear, impatiently listening as it rings. “Hey,” she finally answers, way too chirpy for the kind of day I’m having. “What’s up?”
“You wanna come over to annihilate a few bottles of wine?”
“Aww, hun. What’s going on?” she asks. “Are you having a bad day?”
“The worst,” I tell her. “I was in a car accident.”
“What?” she shrieks. “A car accident? Shit. Are you okay? What happened?”
“What? Is that Bri?” I hear a familiar, panicked voice in the background, one that makes my heart constrict and agonizing pain flare through my chest. “Is she okay?”