Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 27
DELILAH
My skin is crawling again with the sensation of being watched, when Wade brushes his hand against mine as we stand in the crowded bar. I jump and start looking around again, pressing my back against the bar. I don’t see anyone who looks suspicious, but the feeling remains. You can ignore warning bells in your head. You can even ignore your treacherous heart. But you can never ignore your gut. I learned that the hard way.
“Who are you looking for?” Wade asks.
“No one. Just looking around. There are so many new faces.”
“I know, right?” He turns sideways and props his shoulder on the bar. Now he’s really close, almost hugging me. “They texted me that we’re number twenty in line for a table, which means well over an hour.”
I take another sip of my old fashioned. On the weekends, booths have become a commodity, unless you reserve ahead of time. We already had appetizers and two drinks while standing at the bar, so we don’t really need a booth. The only reason I wanted one was so we could sit across from each other. Standing at the bar gives Wade the opportunity to do things like face me fully and put a hand over the bar around me, so it looks like we’re on a date. Fuck. I already told him twice that it’s not a date, so I’m just going to enjoy the rest of my drink and tell him again if he tries to make a move. I huff out a breath and look around once more. I look up and see they’re playing a college hockey game on television and ask the bartender for another drink. Wade has two more before I tell him that I want to go home.
The nagging feeling in my gut is still there when we walk outside, even after I tried drowning it in whiskey. Suddenly, the smell of cigarettes hits me and I really start to panic. My heart’s in my throat as I look around. I spot some girl standing near the door, looking at her phone with a cigarette in her hand. Oh my God. I take a deep breath and exhale. He’s not here. He can’t be.
“We have to walk,” I say when Wade starts heading to where his car is parked.
“You think so?”
I shoot him a look. “I know so.”
“Fine.” He starts trying to do the DUI walk-in-a-straight-line thing and fails miserably.
“You would’ve gotten arrested for that.”
“Maybe.” He glances at me. “Unless it’s a woman officer and I flash my dimple at her.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’d be willing to put her badge on the line for a rendezvous with you.”
He laughs. “Many women would.”
“Yep, I see them on the pitch all the time,” I say.
I look over my shoulder again, that feeling curling around my gut, telling me someone’s watching. I have no connection to this place whatsoever. He couldn’t have found me. A cold chill runs down my spine, just the same.
“I don’t understand why you’re not one of them. Why can’t you date me?” he asks, pulling me from my paranoia.
“I just can’t,” I say, looking over my shoulder.
“You cold?”
“Yep.” It’s not a complete lie. The thought of him catching up to me turns my blood cold.
Wade wraps an arm around my shoulder. I stiffen but leave it there. It’s not like he’s holding me against his side or anything. Prescott walks like this with me all the time, and it means nothing.
“It’s not a date,” I say, reminding him again.
“So you’ve said,” he says. “It could be.”
“It’s not.” I shimmy out of his arm.
He huffs. “Is it because of that guy?”
“There is no guy.”
“The hockey guy,” he says and air quotes, “‘Lachlan Duke’.”
“He’s not a fictional character, you know. The air quotes are unnecessary.”
“Why can’t you just forget about him? Besides, we already had sex, remember?” he asks a little too loudly, and turns to me when we stop at the crosswalk.
“Yep.” I resist the urge to facepalm myself.
Why, why, whyyyy did I do that? What in the world possessed me to hook up with him? Oh yeah, alcohol, boredom, and loneliness. A dangerous triple threat. It happened once. ONCE and the guy brings it up all the time.
“We can do it again.” He reaches out and slides his pointer across my crossed arms.
“We can’t.”
“We’d be good together and you know it.” He brings his hand up and brushes his fingers against my cheek. “You feel it, don’t you?”
“I don’t.” I lower my arms and turn to start walking across the street.
I should feel bad about this, but I don’t. Am I supposed to apologize for not feeling the same way? My mother would say I should. That nags at me, but when I open my mouth, the words won’t come out. I allow myself to think about her often, these days, and find myself asking whether or not she’d approve of certain things. Not that I’d ever really know how she’d treat me, now that I’m an adult, but I do the best I can with what she gave me while she was alive.