Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“His ego couldn’t handle a better-looking man sitting there,” Cal guessed, stopping a good ten feet away from him. Yeah, she was definitely wary of him, even if she tried to hide it.
“Are you saying I’m handsome?” Kieran arched a devilish eyebrow.
“I’m saying Row isn’t,” she quipped back, burrowing deeper into her jacket and taking another step back from him.
Seriously, what had I done in a previous life to deserve this kind of karma? Decapitated puppies and kittens in the town square?
“What’s he doing here?” I repeated, my tone cold. “You’re an employee, and I’m not leaving until I know you’re not in some kind of danger.”
Cal’s expression turned timid. “I’ve been having difficulties falling asleep since Dad passed away.” She clutched at her arms, hugging herself. The wind swept those cherry-blossom hair strands over her face, and her cheeks turned a similar shade. That sobered me up. She had just lost her father. “I need company. Someone to talk to, to keep me away from my own thoughts.”
“Could’ve taken you to Dylan’s.” I felt my nostrils flare.
“Dylan needs to rest.”
“Could’ve talked to me.” Seriously. No. Rock. Bottom. None.
“Sometimes I want to talk to someone who doesn’t scowl or berate me.”
“Specify next time, then. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”
“You aren’t? Well, then I won’t keep you guessing—I want you to go away. Now.”
The tips of her small, red mouth curved upward, and she brushed invisible lint from my shoulder. The touch was short-lived, but it was enough to make me swallow a hiss of depraved desire.
She. Touched. Me. Willingly. She never touched men. It had taken me a while to figure it out, growing up. She’d hidden it with her half-assed lies about hooking up with randoms.
“I’m okay. I swear. Kieran won’t hurt me.” She dipped her chin, holding my gaze seriously. But her eyes told me another story. Her eyes told me to stay. To fight. That she wasn’t feeling very safe at all.
Her eyes, or your delusions? Rhy’s voice inquired in my head.
“I can stick arou—”
“Row? Go.”
I didn’t want to leave her with Kieran. Didn’t want to give them the opportunity to reconnect, laugh, talk. But it wasn’t like I had a choice. And there was something else that pissed me off. The idiotic hope Kieran would make her feel better somehow.
Inhaling sharply, I turned around, descending her porch without a goodbye.
“Will you pick me up tomorrow?” Cal piped up behind my back.
I kept on moving toward my truck, not looking back. “If you’re at Dylan’s. Mom’s house is on my way.”
It wasn’t, but I clung on to the last shred of my self-respect like it was the edge of a cliff on Everest. She’d been here less than a week, and already I had hired her and driven her around like a chauffeur. Way to maintain fucking distance.
I swung the driver’s door open and started the engine, flicking the wipers on to get rid of a thin, icy crust on the windshield.
“Hey, Casablancas!” Kieran put his fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly before waving his hand. “Safe trip, buddy.”
I flipped him off as I drove past her house and into the night. I rounded the curb, then parked in front of an unfamiliar house, choking the steering wheel with my fingers and grunting in frustration as I glued my forehead to the horn, letting loose a long, continuous blare. I then took out my cigarette pack and smoked four cigarettes in a row, until I became dizzy.
Cal was back, and so was my fascination with her.
I was officially, royally, and completely fucked.
ROW
McMonster: You said you work as a server.
oBITCHuary: Yup.
McMonster: How do you handle working with men?
oBITCHuary: I’m mostly scared of men in private settings. Like, when I’m alone with a man in an elevator (which is never, I always leave), or when I’m alone on the street. When it’s in a room full of people, I’m pretty certain no one is going to pounce on me. That’s why I said we should meet for coffee. If we meet at a Starbucks, I am less likely to run away.
McMonster: LESS likely? Meaning it could still happen?
oBITCHuary: Hey, everything’s on the table until you prove to be sane and not a cartel lord.
McMonster: Gotta love a woman with high standards.
McMonster: Are you an extrovert?
oBITCHuary: I think a lot of people would assume I am because I’m happy and upbeat. But…I’m just a people pleaser. There’s a difference.
McMonster: What’s the difference?
oBITCHuary: I act perky and happy because I want to make others feel better, not necessarily because I feel good. I just give them the oBITCHuary they want.
McMonster: A smart person would want the oBITCHuary you really are. There’s no better version of you than your real self.
oBITCHuary: Aww. Did you get that from a fortune cookie?
McMonster: Brat.
McMonster: So.