Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
One catches my eye.
@TwoCanPlayThisGameX2
It’s that creepy profile that messaged me yesterday. They created another account. I’m inclined to just delete and block without looking at the message, but curiosity has me opening it.
Online, you’re anything but real.
Two’s harsh voice fills my head. Fake. I’d been hurt by such a simple word. Being called fake is something that happens often to me, but it’d been extra brutal coming out of Two’s mouth this morning.
Is this him?
Is he the one messaging me?
As much as I’d love to pin the weirdo as also being the creep, I know that’s a reach. Two didn’t know who I was until I introduced myself this morning in class. He wasn’t impressed either.
Against my better judgment, I reply to the creepy account.
Who is this?
I tap my sharp nails on the table surface as I wait for a response. Seconds later, I get a reply that makes my blood run cold.
You’ll know me soon enough.
“Best chocolate mousse pie this side of the Pacific,” Dempsey says, dropping a piece of pie down beside my tray. “Cara guarantees it.”
“Who’s Cara?” I ask, distracted by the bone-chilling message I just received.
“Soup lady Cara. Over there. Pay attention.” He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “This dude really does have you all fucked in the head.”
For once, today, this isn’t about Two.
It’s about this person doing their damnedest to scare me. Maybe it’s Spencer. This sounds exactly like something he’d do.
Or it could be something far more sinister.
I don’t respond to the sender and instead block and delete like I should have from the beginning. This creep is probably sitting in his mom’s basement in some other country far away from me. No need to worry.
“I’m fine,” I say to Dempsey, tossing my phone into my bag and flashing him a brilliant smile. “See. All better.”
He pushes the plate toward me. “Good. Now try the pie and report back.”
He digs into his, practically inhaling it. Amused at his excitement, I follow suit and take a bite. An explosion of silky, decadent, rich chocolate assaults my taste buds in the most delightful way.
“Oh,” I groan, “wow.”
“Right? Will Sloane be disappointed if I dump her for Cara?”
We both crack up laughing. There’s no way in hell Dempsey would ever let Sloane go. It’s amusing to imagine, though.
When we’re finished with lunch, we thank Cara and promise to come back in soon. It makes me a little sad that we were the only ones in there the entire time at what should be one of the busier times of day for a restaurant.
“We totally need to come back again soon,” I tell Dempsey as we get back in his car.
“Hell yeah. I knew I’d have you falling in love with this place.”
“Do you think it’ll survive much longer?”
“Gemma.”
“I know, I know. I promise not to tell the world about it. But seriously, though, if she ever mentions closing, I’m going to break my promise.”
“Fine. Then and only then are you allowed to put this place on blast.”
With my belly full and in the company of my obnoxious brother, I’m feeling tons better than this morning. Both the weirdo and creep who tried to ruin my day can go to hell.
I’m done being bothered by either one of them.
Two
This building smells like fresh paint.
It’s giving me a headache.
Everything is so…new. Fresh. Perfect.
I instantly hate this new therapist on principle. He’s probably some uppity dude who’s going to want me to try eating organic or do some weird-ass light therapy.
Not interested.
The only reason I’m here is because Dad wants me to be. I’ll sit in the office, bore him to death with my hobbies that hardly anyone cares about, and then bolt out of here just in time for my next class.
When I go to open the office door inside the building, it’s locked.
Behind me, the building door opens and a young, sharply dressed man hurries in, a to-go coffee in one hand and a bag in the other.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he says as he makes his way over to me. “The line at the coffee shop was insane. Jude thinks I need a coffee maker here in the office, but nothing tastes as good as when someone else makes it, am I right?” He grins at me. “Tate Prince. I’d shake your hand, but, you know, priorities.”
I smirk when he holds up his coffee like he’s toasting. “Two.”
“I figured,” Tate says, juggling his stuff to unlock his door. “Your dad told me all about you.”
“I bet that was fun,” I deadpan.
He laughs, pushing in through the door. “Your dad said a lot in our ten-minute conversation. A lot of really good stuff about you. I wish my dad had cared even half as much as your dad clearly does.”
A twinge of guilt niggles at me. “What can I say? I’m his pride and joy.”