Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Babe, you might want to get a move on. You need to get ready to leave,” he says.
I look from him to the clock, then feel my eyes widen when I see that he’s right. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to leave for work. It’s going to take me forever to sort out my hair. With no time to deal with whatever is going on with him, I drop his key to the restaurant in the kitchen and grab an outfit from my wardrobe. I go into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. On autopilot, I shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed. I’ve chosen a pair of black slacks and a black scoop-neck sweater with a bow that ties behind my neck—its cream ribbon matches my boots. When I’m done, I open the bedroom door and find that Antonio is no longer in the kitchen. He’s sitting on my couch with two plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him on the coffee table, along with two cups of coffee.
“You gonna stare at it, or are you going to eat it?”
At his words, I meet his gaze, head across the room, and take a seat.
“Thank you,” I mumble, picking up my plate.
“You have nothing but junk food in your fridge. How the hell do you have that body?” he asks as I take a bite of toast.
I almost choke on it when I try to swallow.
“I’ve always been skinny. I have healthy food, too . . .”
“Where?” he counters.
I look at him and narrow my eyes. “There’s some canned veggies in the cupboard, and you found the eggs,” I point out.
“Right . . . canned veggies and eggs.” His lips twitch, and my stomach does that weird dip thing it’s been doing a lot lately.
“I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook three-course meals all the time, so I normally eat on the go,” I say by way of self-defense as I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip around to find a morning news show.
“Do you make good money doing makeup and hair?”
Even though the question is asked casually, it still makes me feel a little strange—like there is a deeper question hidden behind it.
“Can I ask you why you’re asking me that?”
“You told me the other day that the top you had on cost you two hundred dollars. I’m just curious if you bought it yourself or if someone got it for you.”
“If someone got it for me?” I repeat.
His eyes wander over me in a way I try to tell myself I don’t like all that much.
“Yeah. Did a man take you shopping, or did you buy it for yourself?”
“A man bought it for me,” I toss back at him, enjoying watching his eyes shutter and his jaw clench. “That man was my dad. It was my birthday gift last year from him,” I state, completely offended.
Suddenly I realize exactly what kind of girl he thinks I am. Dropping my half-eaten piece of toast on my plate and picking up my cup of coffee, I take both to the kitchen and drop them into the sink. I don’t even bother to scrape the eggs off into the garbage.
“Libby . . . ,” he calls, but I don’t look at him.
“If you’re done, I need to get to work.” I grab my coat off the arm of the couch and put it on, along with my scarf. Then I pick up my purse.
“I didn’t mean anything by my question.”
“You did,” I state, finally looking at him.
He flinches.
Whatever.
“I need to leave. Are you done?” I ask, seeing that he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.
“Lib—”
“Fine. Just lock up before you go.” I cut him off as I open the door and step out. I don’t slam the door behind me even though I want to, but I do stomp down the stairs.
“I thought he wasn’t going inside,” Miss Ina says, startling me.
I jump in place, grabbing my chest.
“Miss Ina, not now. Please.”
“I know, I know.” She waves a hand at me. “You don’t have time to talk because you need to get to work, but I expect you over for tea so we can talk about why you look ready to commit murder.”
“How do you feel about helping me hide a body?”
“I’m old, girl, but I still have a life to live. I can’t go to prison.”
“Right,” I sigh, defeated. My eyes widen when I hear my apartment door open and shut. “Crap,” I whisper.
I rush to Miss Ina and shuffle her back into her apartment. I follow her and close the door as quietly as I can while she asks loudly, “What on earth are you doing?”
Putting my finger to my mouth in a silent demand, I then get up on my toes to look through her peephole until I see Antonio walk past her door. Letting out a relieved breath, my shoulders sag.