Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Focus.
Fuck, I don’t even miss sex as much as I simply miss being able to just touch her.
We even had that shit when we were just friends.
Not having it merely because she’s too busy is dredging up shit I didn’t even know was fucking buried.
I didn’t realize how lonely the life I once lived really was.
How I still fear – even now as a grown ass man – that that’s how it’ll always be, like I did when I was kid.
After placing the finished object to my left, I retrieve another item from the white basket. “What do you want me to make for dinner tonight?” My old gray squadron shirt she wears at least once a week is treated to the same folding treatment the towel received. “And please don’t say somethin’ in the Tex Mex family. I’ve texted Ma so many times in the past two days about old recipes that she called me cockblock.” I let my mirth-filled stare lift up to meet hers. “Which is the last shit I ever expected my ma – of all people – to call me.”
“You sure you weren’t being a cockblock,” the love of my life teases at the same time she wiggles her mismatched fuzzy sock covered feet. “Maybe on a subconscious level?”
“You mean ‘cause I’m pretendin’ I’m not uncomfortable with her havin’ a boyfriend when I really am?”
“No, I meant because you weren’t getting your cock touched, no one else should, either.”
Her snarky snickers pull a crooked smirk to my face. “Is that right?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound wrong.”
Arley chuckles again prompting me to abandon the half-folded clothing back in the basket, grab her ankle, and tug her frame off the couch until she’s straddling me. “You’re actin’ like you’ve got time to fuck around.” I allow my fingertips to trace the curve of her ass. “If we’re gonna fuck around, Angel Cake, let’s fuck around.”
Additional girlish giggles precede her winding her arms around my neck. “I’m actually finished, Cowboy.”
Surprise immediately shoots my eyebrows up. “Completely?”
“Yup.”
“Crossed all the Ts? Dotted all the Is?”
“You’re terrible at that.”
“But you’re not.” Brushing loose strands of hair off her Artic Monkey’s t-shirt is attached to a warm smile. “Which is why we’re perfect for each other.”
“You know if I didn’t know any better, I would say you purposely half ass paperwork so that you have an extra excuse to come by my office.”
“I don’t need an excuse to come see you.”
“You mean now.”
My eyes bore into hers. “I mean ever.”
Redness tints her cheeks encouraging me to investigate the so-called finished project.
“What’ve you got for us?”
“A location.”
There’s no stopping my body from sitting all the way up. “You know where he is?”
“No.”
“You know where he lives?”
“No.”
“You know where he’s comin’ from?”
“I know where’s he’s going to be.” An unpredicted cringe is almost immediately presented. “Kind of.”
“Clarify.”
“The algorithm was able to identify the patterns of each individual’s assumed name and essentially map out his whole life according to persona. None of them overlap. Not looks. Not locations. Not known associates. Not hobbies. Not even cuisine types, which is ironically enough, what created a flaw in his rather ironclad alias setup.”
I fold my fingers at the small of her back and continue to wordlessly listen on.
“There is one Thai restaurant, Thick Thais, that he visits here in downtown Dalvegan quarterly. I’m fairly certain it’s some sort of drop or pickup location.”
“Perfect.”
“Mmm…not exactly.” A tiny bite is stolen out of the side of her lip. “It’s always done within the same window of time but not the same date or day of the week or even month necessarily. What I’ve done is managed to find you a window, it just happens that window is um…let’s say midsized.”
“How midsized we talkin’?”
“Bay.”
Displeasure has me sucking my teeth in response.
“There are only a few weeks left in the quarter and according to Wiz’s monitoring, he hasn’t arrived yet, which means he will be arriving sometime in this month.”
“So, we have to do recon of the Thai restaurant every day from now until the 31st?”
“Technically, no. They’re closed on Christmas day.”
I force myself to find a smile. “At least I know we’ll be together for that.”
“And they close early on Christmas Eve; therefore, we can still spend Nochebuena with Ma.” Her beam is sweet. Optimistic. “I honestly don’t think you’ll have to stakeout the place that long.”
She’s tossed a quirked eyebrow of question.
“From an analyzing standpoint, he’s least likely to visit the week of Christmas. It’s a high-risk environment with too many variables he can’t control or predict.”
“It compromises the security of his situation. Puttin’ himself as much as whatever he’s there to pick up or drop off in possible danger.”
“Plus, law enforcement presence increases exponentially downtown that week in particular. That means more eyes. More eyes mean more bodies. More bodies mean more-”