Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Tony was right about me. I am a dog,” he stated out of the blue, garnering her attention. “I’ve run around on women like I was in a marathon race. I’m a playboy. I love sex, and the illusion of makin’ love. I’ve been in love before though, and I’ve been in hate, too. I have some issues with trust, but people can change. If they want to.”
“You definitely have to want to, and the incentive should be that you’re doing it for you.” Her voice caught in her throat, cracking like firewood. Something inside of her broke for him. It wasn’t that he needed fixing, but he needed permission to mend himself. Some encouragement. He looked into her eyes so deeply that it made her knees damn near buckle. It was just something about this motherfucker. He was smooth. He was sexy as hell. He was stunning. He was funny. He was intense, without being creepy. He was laid back, and yet, on ten, all at once.
“To change, one definitely needs to look inward, and sometimes, a little push helps. Sometimes, the incentive and that little push are also standin’ right in front of us. Hiding in plain sight. A little extra sugar with cherry Goddess braids on top.”
With that, he looked deep into her eyes, and as her Jeep pulled up, he gathered her in his arms and placed a sweet, perfect kiss against her cheek.
The valet got out of the vehicle and attempted to help her into her truck. Once again, Roman took over, shoving the guy out of the way after stuffing a wad of cash in his hand. His arm around hers, he helped her into the driver’s seat. Once she was settled, he leaned against the door. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.
“Drive safely, Genesis. Give me a call soon, okay?”
“I will, and I will.” She analyzed his face. A look of innocence flashed in his eyes. She leaned forward and placed a peck on his lips. They were oh, so soft. “Thank you for a lovely evening. My contribution of five hundred dollars was well spent.” They both had a good laugh at that. And then, she put the car in drive, and headed out of there…
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Tough Act to Follow
The white Jeep Wrangler disappeared down the street. Once the vehicle was out of sight and Genesis was nothing more than a beautiful memory, Roman turned his attention to the man watching him from across the road. He didn’t recognize the guy: five foot ten or so, short dark hair, thick beard, talking on his phone while smoking a cigarette. He’s not family.
The man had been inside the restaurant for a brief time, and now stood by an older model gray Honda with Michigan plates. Roman thanked the valet once again and told him to keep his car on ice. He’d be back in a little while. He made like he was going back into the restaurant. As soon as he entered, he took a glance over his shoulder and saw the same watchman crossing the street towards him. Roman moved slowly to where he and Genesis had dined. He stood there for a bit, the table now cleared of any evidence that he’d just had one of the best dates ever. He looked towards the front of the restaurant and saw the guy now loitering, but not looking directly at him.
Patting his jacket pocket, he made his way towards the back of the restaurant. He waved to a few of the patrons he recognized—bankers and the like—then entered the kitchen. The large doors swung open like those of an old western saloon. The staff looked at him in surprise, some of their faces covered in beads of sweat, with steaming pots and fire popping skillets ruling the area. Everyone seemed to stop in their tracks as he casually walked through, explaining that he was exiting out the back, and to ignore him. Head Chef Damarko, a famous cook who ran the line, had peepers wide as saucers as their eyes met. They knew one another due to a few company functions catered by the place. Roman cast him a big, warm smile.
“Chef, I’m Roman Wilde. You may or may not remember me, but I’ll be out of here before you can get those lamb chops on the grill. I’m a ghost, vanishin’ before your eyes…”
The man nodded, grunted, then began speaking to another cook about timing for a dish.
Once Roman had reached the back door, he unlocked it, then shoved it open and made his way back with a determined stride towards the front of the restaurant. His heart galloped with each tread, and cool elation flooded him like torrential rain. Every cell of his being swelled with delight. A soothing, comfortable, yet at the same time heavy darkness cloaked him from the inside out. His midnight black sheep wool thickened as his fingers wrapped around his Glock-18. The black sheep was being counted…