Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
That wasn’t what held my attention, though.
That was the fact that he was coming down the stairs holding two mugs of coffee in one hand and a plate of food in the other.
“I don’t know if you ate,” he explained. “It’s late,” he added when I stared at him like he’d grown another head. “And I know it’s cold down here,” he went on, carefully waving the mugs. “I don’t know how you like it, so I added a little bit of milk and a little bit of sugar,” he told me. Seeming to pick up on my hesitance, he moved toward me to place the plate and the mug on top of the dryer beside me, before retreating with his mug to go back toward the stairs. Where he sat down in the exact spot I’d vacated not long before. “Go ahead,” he urged. “I didn’t drug it. What purpose would that serve at this point?” he asked, sounding a little tired, maybe even a little defeated.
I reached for the mug, cradling it between my hands, feeling it start to warm me up, but not taking a sip.
The plate of food was interesting.
I guess it was sort of like a mini charcuterie board with some meats, cheeses, a few crackers, and a clementine that he’d actually taken the time to peel for me.
Guys who were going to drug, rape, and murder you didn’t typically peel your clementines first, did they?
Deciding they didn’t I went ahead and reached for a piece of cheddar cheese while Matteo contemplated his coffee.
“I don’t know what to do here, honey,” he admitted, half to himself, as I reached for another piece of cheese, finding myself suddenly starving despite the craziness of the night. “I can’t hand you over to them. I mean, you’re all of, what? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“Four,” I supplied as I reached for a sliver of salami.
“Twenty-four. You’re a kid still,” he said, shaking his head.
My knee-jerk reaction was to snap back at that, to inform him that I had been on my own since I was eighteen, that I had busted my butt to get a life going for myself that I could be proud of, that I was adult enough to hold down a well-paying job, have all my bills paid on time, and even start to invest. Well, fine, I’d read some articles on investing and signed up for an investing app before I’d chickened out. But, you know, it was on my radar. And I had a few extra bucks to throw at it when I got my nerve up.
I was not a kid by any means.
But, in this one situation—much like playing dumb to get someone else to pump my gas—allowing him to think I was young seemed like it might play in my favor.
So I went ahead and said nothing as I made a little sandwich with the crackers, cheese, and meat.
“What were you doing at work after hours?” he asked. And, again, I had to hold myself back from saying something snarky like Well, not murdering people.
“I had a concert,” I told him. “I realized I left my ticket at work. I knew I shouldn’t have been there after hours, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime concert,” I told him, feeling a crushing sensation in my chest as I realized I’d missed it anyway. And what had happened to Abby? Had she waited around for me and missed it too? Was she worried about me?
“Concert,” Matteo repeated. “That explains the outfit,” he added, making me remember what I was wearing for the first time since I’d put it on. I’d been a little too preoccupied worrying about other things. But as I looked down to see the open space between my breasts and down to my pants, yeah, I was starting to see why I’d gotten so cold so fast. “I’m sorry you missed it,” he added, shaking his head in a way that made me think he actually genuinely meant that.
Maybe I hadn’t been wrong about him being a decent kind of guy. You know, when he wasn’t shooting people in the head.
Or maybe he was just playing the part. Like I’d done countless times to get something I wanted. I didn’t know exactly what he wanted from me right then, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out, either.
“I think maybe we should both sleep on it,” he said, finishing off his coffee, then slowly moving to stand.
“No!” I shrieked, not really meaning to, but there seemed to be no stopping it once it rose up in my throat.
“I don’t like it either,” he said, eyes soft. “I will bring you some pillows and blankets. I won’t make you sleep on the cold floor,” he added.
“No!” I yelped again, trying to think of something, anything. “No, I can’t sleep down here.”