Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to the airport, Alfred.”
Once again, his look is disapproving. But his anger has dissipated. “You’re not? You don’t have very much time to do anything else.”
“Don’t care. I came here to Chicago to do something and I aim to do it.”
“Really? And what is that?”
I lift the bag in my hand. “Set some shit on fire.”
Chapter Four
I’m grateful for the hat and jacket Alfred gave me.
Really. I am.
But I look like an idiot.
The “jacket” isn’t a jacket at all. It’s one of those floor length trench coats that has as many pockets as it does buttons. And the “hat” isn’t a beanie or a ball cap. It’s a top hat. With fuzzy little ear muff things. Add that to my ruined boots, wet pants and Mr. Swagger’s white button down, and I look like a damn hobo.
I apologized to Ross the moment I got in the car. He responded by asking for the address to where I was going. I gave it to him, then halfway there, I realized I didn’t have a lighter. Or a paper bag. When I asked Ross to stop at a 7-11 first, he shot me an angry glare through the rearview mirror. Still, he pulled into a convenience store without a word. I didn’t expect him to be there when I got out, but he was.
Maybe that was his way of accepting my apology.
I peel away the paper bag from the forty and shove it in the pocket of my coat to keep it dry. When I do, something sharp stabs at my finger. It’s the corner of a business card. I pull it out and study it as I chug my beer.
Jake Swagger.
The name looks even hotter than it sounds embossed in silver lettering on the black card. The only other thing on the card is a number.
Like the bag of shit sitting beside me, I want to set the card on fire. Instead, I bury it back in the front pocket of my coat. Not because I want to remember my time with Jake Swagger, but because I can use it for my research. I’ll design my That Guy’s business card to look as sleek and sexy as this one.
The car rolls to a stop outside Luke Duchanan’s house. Ross stares straight ahead without as much as a glance in my direction. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Ross, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble. You seem like a nice dude.” After a moment, he clears his throat and gives a tight nod—still not meeting my eyes.
I step out and close the door. The car disappears and I’m left standing in the snow, at three in the morning, buzzed and all alone in a big city by myself. The dark street intimidates me. But the nightlight on Luke’s porch shines like a beacon—reminding me that all the shit I’ve been through on this trip will be worth it just to see Emily smile.
And retell the story to a stranger.
Fuck him in a parking lot.
Fall in love.
Move the hell out of my apartment.
I’m such a good friend.
I slip and slide and almost break my neck on the icy steps. Before I make it to the top, the rest of my forty ends up down the front of my jacket. At last on the porch, I toss the bottle over the railing, pull the paper bag out of my pocket, untie the plastic one, transfer the dog shit and grab my lighter.
The small awning over the door provides no shelter from the sheets of ice and snow that blow in sideways. So I kneel down and use my trench coat to block the wind while I set the bag on fire.
The shit really catches fire. Blazing scary hot and flaming like nobody’s business. I grab my phone and hit record. Then I ring the bell and bang on the door over and over and over until I hear footsteps inside and the voice of Luke Duchanan demanding that I “hold the fuck on.”
My plan goes off without a hitch.
Luke opens the door. Sees the fire. Stomps the bag in his fancy ass house shoes. Then the vile fumes of the warm and toasty dog shit wafts into the air and hits the back of Luke Duchanan’s throat just as he pulls in a deep breath of shock.
Initiate gagging.
Witnessing this grown man scream like a girl in between dry heaves and tears is greater than I imagined it would be.
And I’ve got it all on video.
And it’s epic.
Even I, future bestselling author extraordinaire, couldn’t just make this up.
I’m so entertained by the scene before me, I don’t even notice the two approaching officers until they’re next to me. Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I try to maneuver around them, but it’s a small porch. And they’re pretty big guys.