Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
The model-looking man glances across at the diner, catching sight of the cruiser parked in the lot with the other cars there. He lets out a snort, a small smile pulling his mouth up. “I figured those idiots wouldn’t be able to tell my bluff.”
Something about him is strangely familiar to me. I can’t shake the thought.
“Well, thanks,” I tell him, nodding. “I should keep a better look out for would-be kidnappers from now on, huh?” I try to playfully call behind me as I walk, noticing that the guy was staring at me and still feeling shaken by before.
“Wait,” the man calls after me, hurried footsteps following after me. “I wanted to ask you something. Can you slow down for a minute? I want to talk.”
“I can’t deal with this again tonight,” I answer him, feeling disappointed and wishing that Mr. Tall-dark-and-handsome had turned out to be a good guy and not just running the competition off. “I’m really not in the mood. Please.”
“What? What do you mean?” The guy questions me in confusion as he gets closer to me, reaching out a hand to me. “Not in the mood for what? I just want to….”
“I have to get home, and I’m not one of the dancers,” I almost snap as I turn to look at the beautiful man.
He is more attractive up close, and I’m let down. Of course, this man that I feel so enamored by just wants me as the others had.
“Wait…what?” The man looks very confused, which makes me confused.
“I’m not going home with you, okay?” I tell him quickly, trying not to cry.
“Jesus, Kathleen,” the man almost curses under his breath, wide-eyed.
I look up quickly, heart hammering. How does this man know my name?
“You don’t remember me,” the man says, his voice sounding hurt.
I stare at him, still feeling that vague sense that I know this man. There’s some sort of memory in my head struggling to crawl its way to the surface.
As close as he is, I can smell him, and he smells of leather.
It awakens a memory in my head of this man looking over his shoulder as my mom holds my hand. He’s waving at me, though the look of him is fuzzy in my shifting thoughts.
It doesn’t make any sense to me.
Something in me knows him though and I don’t want anyone from my past coming back to see me the way I am now. He’s too familiar not to know me.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, blinking. “Should I know who you are?”
Part of me wonders if this is just some elaborate way to get my guard down so that he can get closer to me, maybe get “friendly” or “lucky.”
Men see I work at a place like The Scarlet Lounge and assume I want to sell myself quickly to anyone. None of them are ever looking for anything real. But no, I know this man, and I can remember him with shorter hair and tanned skin.
Something about him makes me feel safe, though, and I don’t think he means me any harm. Something about him is like a warm blanket, and I want to wrap myself around him.
“I’m Edward Snow,” he says quietly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Your dad called me Eddie back when we worked together. I own this club now. As of last night.”
CHAPTER TWO
Eddie
Kathleen Henderson is so different from what I remember.
She’s grown so very beautiful, and my mind immediately latches onto the idea of being hers. I can see us together, locked in an embrace.
This is the woman I want to be mine. This is the one I want by my side, always.
I can vaguely recall her mother’s short, blonde hair, though her father’s face is more clear to me. I can remember the soft angles of Harlan’s features, which are clearly reflected in Kathleen’s face.
She is absolutely breathtaking.
No woman has ever stirred any real feeling out of me, no one but her.
“This is your club?” she says, glancing back at the door behind her. “I thought the owner was some man named Peter. I met him a couple of times, I think.”
I’m still not sure at all if she remembers me or not, but I think that I can see a hint of recognition in her pale, sea-green eyes. She looks like she wants to remember.
“Peter was my uncle,” I tell her, nodding. “He passed away over the weekend, and when the will was read, I found out he left me this place for some reason.”
I don’t feel much sorrow when I think of him. I didn’t know him very well, but with both of my parents retired and uninterested in owning a strip club, I had been his best bet in keeping the business alive.
It isn’t my dream, but it’s good enough.