Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“Why did you care?” I managed to finally ask, my voice sounding weaker than I wanted it to.
He looked away and out toward the dance floor.
“Dirk, why? You need to explain to me why you dug into my life. Why you felt the need to put more than one-hundred-thousand dollars into my bank account.”
All he did was shake his head as he refused to look at me.
I looked at Brock, who simply shrugged. “He didn’t tell me anything, Merit. This is all news to me, I swear.”
My head started to spin. I reached for the water and took another long drink, then placed it back on the table. “What all did Phil tell you?” I asked.
Dirk remained silent.
I felt a tear slip free, and I quickly brushed it away. Then, I laughed like a crazy, freaking fool. Dirk turned and looked at me, his face pulled in tight with a concerned expression.
“You know,” I said, laughing once more. There wasn’t a bit of humor in it, or at least I didn’t feel like anything was funny as I spoke. “I swore I would never allow myself to let you make me cry or hurt me again. This is exactly why I stayed away from home.” My voice sounded slightly slower than normal.
Jabbing my finger into his chest, I kept speaking. “You—you are the reason why I left Montana and never wanted to come back. But I’m not doing this anymore. You don’t get to destroy me, throw money around like it’s glitter, then come sweeping back into my life to fix what you broke.”
Dirk jumped like I had slapped him.
“I broke you?” he asked.
I pushed him. “Move, I’m weaving. No, I’m leave…leaving.” Christ, I had to concentrate on my words.
Dirk held his ground and didn’t move. “Wait, Merit.”
“Get the hell out of my way, Dirk, or I swear to God I’ll start screaming.”
Dirk slid out of the booth, and I followed. I pulled out a twenty from my back pocket and threw it onto the table. I turned to face him and the room spun. I had drank too much. Shit.
“I’ve been taking care of myself for the last ten years, and I do not need you to butt into my life and play hero. I’ll find out how I can withdraw the money and give it back to you.”
“I’m not taking it back, Merit,” he stated as he crossed his arms over his chest. My lower stomach pulled with lust, and I quickly pushed it away.
Brock slid out of the other side of the booth. “I don’t think this is the place to have this conversation. Why don’t the two of you go and talk somewhere quiet.”
“No need, Brock, I’m weaving.” I shook my head. “Fuck, I’m weaving. Fuuuck I. Am. L-eaving.”
As I turned to walk away, the entire room spun, and I stumbled.
Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have had that last shot.
“Damn it,” Dirk said as he quickly grabbed me. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
“I don’t need you to—”
I clamped my mouth shut and felt the color drain from my face.
“I know that face. She’s about to be sick, Brock.”
Before I knew what was happening, Dirk swept me up into his arms like I weighed nothing and quickly started making his way across the dance floor. I closed my eyes—one, because I was embarrassed as all get out; and two, the movement made the nausea a million times worse.
“Hold on, Bugs, we’re almost there.”
Ugh. Dirk using my pet name he used to call me when we were younger made me want to bury my face into his neck and cry.
The moment he pushed open the door and I felt the cool evening air, I was instantly better.
Dirk set me down, and I took in a deep breath and prayed to the heavens above that I didn’t throw up in front of him.
Unfortunately, my prayer was just a moment too late. I puked. Everywhere.
Chapter Seven
DIRK
Merit leaned over and moaned. “Oh God, I’m going to die.”
I chuckled and rubbed my hand softly over her back. “You’re not going to die, Bugs.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and took in a few deep breaths.
“How is she?” Brock asked as he handed me a cold wet cloth he must have asked Betty Jane for.
“She’d be better if she threw up some more.”
“Shut up. Don’t say that,” Merit groaned. “I hate throwing up, and you know it.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I did know that, and there had been plenty of times I’d held Merit’s hair back after she drank one too many beers. The woman couldn’t hold her liquor to save her life.
Merit slowly stood and looked from me to Brock and then back to me. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I’m sorry.”
This time I laughed. “Yes, you did mean to ruin it.”