Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Instead I just sat around, waiting for something to happen. Reese still made me nervous, but I trusted London and it wasn’t like I had any other options. Even the money I’d managed to hide from my dad was gone, burned up in the explosion. Now all I had were the clothes Loni had given me.
Two pairs of panties. One bra. A pair of shorts and a pair of jeans, two tank tops and a sweatshirt.
That was it—the sum total of all my worldly possessions.
I needed to take action, figure things out . . . But when I tried to talk to Loni and Reese about the next step, neither of them had time for me. Loni had work stuff, Reese had club stuff, and they both just kept telling me to rest up and let my head heal.
A girl can only rest so much, though.
That’s why I was just sitting on the porch Saturday afternoon, trying to read when I heard the bikes coming. Now, if I’d learned anything over the past two days, I’d learned that there were always bikes coming and going from Reese Hayes’ house, so I didn’t think too much of it when I saw the motorcycles turn into the driveway. Then I recognized one of the riders as Painter, and my heart clenched. (Okay, so it wasn’t my heart that clenched, it was something centered a lot lower in my body, but don’t judge me. Painter was the kind of hot that no sane woman can resist. It never occurred to me to try.)
“Hi,” I managed to say as he swaggered toward the porch—and yeah, he had the swagger down cold, trust me.
“Hey,” he replied, giving me that same slow grin that’d first melted me at the hospital. (And the house. And the restaurant . . .) “This is Puck. Me and him are gonna hang out here tonight.”
I shot a look at his friend, who was a tall, solidly built guy with darkish skin, darker hair and a nasty scar across his face. He didn’t look much older than me, but the flatness of his eyes sort of freaked me out.
“Reese didn’t say anything about someone coming over,” I replied, torn. I wanted Painter around, but his friend? Not so much. “I should probably check with Loni.”
“Feel free,” Puck said. “But we got orders. President says we’re watching the house and keeping an eye on you, so that’s what we’re doing.”
Painter scowled at him. “Way to scare her, fuckwad.”
Puck didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms over his chest, making it clear he was here to stay. Okay. This was getting weird fast.
“You know, why don’t you just come in?” I said quickly. I hated it when people fought. Mom and Dad fought all the time, at least until she stopped giving a shit and started smoking pot constantly. “I think there’s some pork chops in the fridge. I’ll make them for dinner, does that sound good?”
Painter smiled at me again, and this time there was something strained about the expression. “Sounds perfect, babe. Can’t wait.”
________
Dinner was weird. For one thing, we didn’t talk. None of us. We just sat and ate in the same room together, the clicking of our knives and forks almost painfully loud. Painter was nothing like he’d been before . . . He was still nice to me, but distant. No little knee touches, no lingering glances.
Nothing whispered in my ear.
The situation with Puck was strange, too. I’d assumed they were friends, but soon realized they hardly knew each other. Not that it mattered—they’d been sent to the house with orders to watch over me, and that’s what they planned to do. This burst my bubble in a big way, because I’d been secretly hoping that Painter had wanted to see me again. In reality, I was an assignment. I didn’t know why Reese thought I needed a babysitter, but he obviously did.
I’d just finished my pork chop when Painter suggested we watch a movie.
“It’ll help pass the time,” Puck agreed, anything but friendly. “I’ll see what’s available. Good food—thanks.”
He stood and carried his plate into the kitchen, then passed by us again on his way to the living room. Painter leaned back in his own seat, looking me over.
“How are you doing?” he asked, and it sounded like he was actually interested in the answer. I shrugged.
“Good,” I said. “Although it’s a little weird . . . I don’t feel safe going home. Loni’s place is gone. I’m not quite sure what I’m still doing out here, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, either. I can’t even get to my job, because I don’t have a car. Loni and Reese are never here. It’s hard to wrap my head around what comes next, you know?”
Huh. That was a lot more than I’d planned on sharing. I stared down at my plate, wondering if I sounded like a whiny little girl. Painter didn’t respond, so I shot him a look under my lashes. He was studying me intently, although I couldn’t read his expression.