Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Now I felt bad. I’d have to apologize, but I was leaving with my phone no matter what. This runaround thing was getting ridiculous, and even if Ryan were a good guy, him keeping my phone captive, for whatever reason, was getting to be pretty annoying. I had a job offer on the table—almost—and I couldn’t ruin my chances.
When we finally pulled up to the house, I sat back in the seat for a moment, nerves flooding my body as I stared at the snow-white siding with deep blue trim. It was cute, and it looked well-kept. He was a gardener. Of course, it would be. I chuckled as I paid and stepped out of the car, waving to the cab driver.
The steps to the door were like steps to an interview. My body flooded with nerves, and each step I took closer to the door made me feel like what I was doing would bite me in the butt. I still felt a connection to Ryan, even if he was currently being an ass. I was a sucker for an apology on a good day. Usually. I hadn’t had enough of the margarita for it to hit me, but the thought of being alone with Ryan was starting to make me feel short of breath.
I knocked before I could change my mind, realizing I hadn’t even looked for his car in the driveway. What if he wasn’t home yet?
My question fell away to more important ones when the door opened, and a woman stood there wearing pajamas and a sleepy, angry expression. “Please tell me something bad happened,” she said, “because this is way too late for someone to knock on my door.”
My door. That confirmed it. I inhaled deeply, shoving down all my feelings. I would be honest because I’d want someone to be honest with me.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. My name is Christie. I know this will sound strange, and first, I need you to know that I had no idea.”
“What?” The woman blinked until she seemed more awake and alert, yawning as she took a step onto the porch and shut the door softly behind her. “What are you talking about? Christie, you said you were?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I just came for my phone.”
The woman shook her head, her eyes closed as she processed what I had said. “Your what?”
“My phone.”
She crossed her flannel-sleeved arms over her chest, her eyes narrower. “What makes you think I have your phone?”
I rocked on my heels. This was it. “That’s the tricky part. I’m really, really sorry. But your husband took my phone.”
She shook her head. “How . . .”
“Forget it,” I interrupted and spread my hands out in front of me like two shields. “I’ll just deal with this later. I shouldn’t have shown up like this.”
“Duke!”
Duke? I’d turned toward the steps but whipped back around as the porch light came on and a man filled the doorway. Not the man I expected but a big, burly man who looked more like a bouncer at a nightclub.
“Who is this woman? And why do you have her phone?” the woman asked him.
The man narrowed his gaze at me as if considering me against every woman he’d been around.
I shook my head erratically, fighting for words, but nothing came out as my entire being fell in on itself. I felt like I was in the worst comedy ever made with the most cringe-worthy script ever written.
Duke said, “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.”
I finally found my voice and backed up toward the steps once more. “No, no, no. I’m so sorry. I have the wrong house.” The words sent a flutter of relief through me. I had the wrong house. Ryan wasn’t a cheater. “I was looking for someone else. His name’s Ryan. I just—”
“You’re looking for who?” The woman seemed ten times more interested now, and with that, Duke threw his hands up and turned tail back inside. My gut clenched, and I took a step toward her and away from the steps. Just in case.
“Ryan,” I said, my voice small and seemingly insignificant now.
But then it got worse. She laughed. Not even a small laugh. A deep, guttural laugh that echoed down the street and probably woke up the neighbors.
“I’m sorry,” I said simply, not wishing to endure any more humiliation as I turned back toward the steps and made my way down.
The woman finished laughing and cleared her throat, but I didn’t look back.
“Are you sleeping with him?” she asked, stopping me short.
I turned just long enough to answer. “I’m not. I mean, I did. Once. I didn’t know he was married or whatever, I swear, but he ended up with my phone, and I’ve been through hell trying to get it back.”
“Oh, honey, I don’t care that he slept with you. He can sleep with whoever he wants. We’re divorced.”