Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Going over to the women’s clothes, there are shirts with flowers and cute little sayings on them. I turn up my nose. That shit is not Delilah. Turning the cart, I go to the men’s section and grab a black shirt and a Van Halen shirt. This should get her until she gets back home. Tossing all the shit into the cart, I head to the front and check out. A young girl that can’t be any more than sixteen with jet black hair and more piercings in her face than I can count helps me check out. She’s silent, not saying a word, so I just stare at the pins on her blue vest. A Jack the Skelton head, Chucky, and Jason. Horror fan, I see. I wonder what Delilah likes to watch. I flinch at that thought, why the fuck do I wanna know what Delilah’s into?
“Here’s your receipt.”
Taking it, I place it in the bag and head outside, the heat nearly taking my breath away. Fuck, it’s hot. Nearing my truck, I notice a large wet spot under it; fresh.
What the fuck? Opening the back driver door, I throwing the bags in the back seat, and get down on my knees and press my fingers in the puddle under my truck.
Is that coolant? Shit!
“Son of a bitch!”
Climbing in, I head back to the hotel, my truck mists, and jerks the whole way. The thermostat on the dash telling me she’s trying to overheat. “Fuck! Fuck!” I quickly park at the hotel and pop the hood open. It sits so high I have to climb up the grill and look for the water pump. I find it with a fucking bullet lodged into the side of it. Grabbing it with my fingers, I tug it out and what’s left of the coolant pools out.
This is going to set us back.
Climbing out of the truck, I slam the hood, rub my fingers on my jeans, grab the bags, and head inside. Check-out is in thirty minutes, but I have a feeling we’ll be staying another night.
Back inside the room, I hear cursing coming from the cracked bathroom door. Pressing my palm onto it I slowly push it open finding Delilah bent over trying to wash her hair in the sink. My dark blue shirt I got from a rodeo in Montana about two years ago hangs to the middle of her thighs. I haven’t seen a woman wear my clothes before, I never gave them the chance. Seeing how sexy D looks in my shirt right now though, I should start letting it happen a lot more. I toss the bags onto the bed and shove the bathroom door open farther, coming in, there’s water all over the counter, her hand wildly flailing for the bottle of shampoo just out of her reach.
“Let me help.” I grab the bottle and squirt it into my palm.
“No, I-I got it.”
“No, you don’t.” I dig my soapy fingers into her hair and start scratching and rubbing the shampoo into her dark hair, blood slipping off her hair and swirling down the drain.
Her shoulders relax and I hear a loud exhale as I take over the mission at hand.
“This reminds me of when we were painting the baby room for Piper together.”
I smile, remembering us painting pastel colors on the wall, I was on a ladder and kept dripping paint on her. At first she thought she was getting it on herself, looking at the brush in her hand and inspecting the wall for smudges but she eventually figured it out, and before I knew it we got into a paint war.
“Yeah, it took me three tries to get that shit out of my beard.”
Now using the conditioner, the bathroom goes quiet as I continue to wash her hair, both of us realizing that day of throwing paint at each other was us actually flirting.
She’s off limits. I’m forbidden.
I’m here because I’m trusted to keep her safe, and I want her to know that is exactly what I’m here for. Protection.
“So what happened to your face exactly?” Changing the subject she tenses beneath me.
“I don’t really know,” she finally answers, distress in her voice. “A nasty guy name Bugs was hitting on me and giving me the creeps. I turned him down and I think that pissed him off.”
“So, you were a bitch?”
“Probably.” She doesn’t try to deny it, that’s what I like about her though.
“Next thing I know, the lights were cut in my apartment and they were coming after me.”
“That’s it? It doesn’t have anything to do with that guy that was sitting on the back of the bike with you?”
“How’d you—wait, how long were you watching me?” She tries to lift her head out of the sink but I don’t let her.