Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Sam flashed him a warmer smile, but Deke couldn’t say for sure that the healer truly believed him. “I’ll let you get back to your meal.” He then strode off.
With an inward sigh, Deke took another swig of his drink. The bell above the door dinged again as yet another person swanned inside. Deke tensed, his grip tightening on his glass. Maisy.
They’d made no plans to contact each other, so he could only assume that whoever was behind the fake profile had pulled another stunt that she felt the need to share. Shit.
She hung her jacket on the rack by the door and then leaned her collapsed umbrella against the wall. Her gaze landed straight on him, and she then crossed to his booth, her steps slow and hesitant. She cleared her throat and then offered him a shaky smile. “Hi.”
Before he had a chance to speak, she dropped onto the other side of his booth, making the leather cushion creak slightly. His cat snarled—not only at her close proximity, but at how she’d so boldly joined them uninvited as if it were her right.
She held her purse against her chest. “I, um, I saw you through the window. I … I thought we could talk.”
Feeling his brow furrow, Deke set down his glass. “Talk?”
The sound of rubber soles squeaking along the checkered tile floor quickly preceded the appearance of one of the waitresses, Hilda. She gave Maisy a quick onceover, flicked him a curious look, and then smiled at the human. “What can I get you?”
“Uh, just coffee, please.”
Hilda lifted a brow at him. “Need anything else, Deke?”
“I’m good,” he replied.
The waitress disappeared.
Maisy placed her purse on the seat beside her and then nervously rubbed her thighs. She cast him another trembly smile but didn’t speak. Just sat there. As if they did this shit all the time. As if her approaching him in public to chat was the complete norm for them.
Why would she even be in this area? If what she’d told him about herself was true, she lived two hours away.
Hilda reappeared and set both a steaming mug and a small jug of creamer in front of Maisy. “Enjoy.” Hilda gave him one last questioning look but then melted away.
Maisy went about prepping her coffee, still not saying a word.
Not impressed that she seemed to be dragging this out—he was trying to eat his dinner, for fuck’s sake—he prodded, “You said you wanted to talk. About what?”
Stirring her drink, she replied, “He called me a few days ago. Deke Two, I mean. That’s what I started referring to him as in my head.”
A civil title. Deke tended to mentally refer to him with curse words.
She lay her spoon down on the table. “I hadn’t intended to confront him over the catfishing, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I’d blocked his number so he couldn’t contact me. But he called from a withheld number and, not realizing it was him, I answered. God, just hearing his voice made me so mad. I blew up.”
Pausing, she took a sip of her coffee. “He insisted that though he lied about his identity, he hadn’t lied when he claimed he loved me. He said that he would never play me that way. As if he hadn’t already played me simply by pretending to be somebody else.” She shook her head, clearly pained. “I eventually hung up on him. He hasn’t texted or called me since, so I’m guessing he accepted that the gig was up.”
Hopefully the son of a bitch truly had accepted it. Deke had considered deactivating his own profile so that no one could create another replica of it, but he would be damned if he’d allow the fucker to have that level of influence over his actions.
She sipped her coffee again. “So, how is your day going?”
He blinked at the mundane, casually spoken question.
“I, uh, I tried adding you as a friend on NetherVille. Not sure if you noticed.”
He hadn’t, actually. He didn’t use the site much.
She briefly averted her gaze. “I thought maybe it might be nice for us to keep in touch.”
“Why?” he asked, though he suspected he knew the answer; suspected it would also explain why she’d come here.
She hesitated. “A person can never have too many friends, right?”
His cat bristled at the soft smile she gave him. It was a smile reserved for people who knew each other well, not for those who were relative strangers.
Deke sat back in his seat. “I’m not him.”
Maisy’s brow puckered. “What?”
“The guy you were talking to all these months and grew to care about. I’m not him.”
“Well, of course you’re not.” She put down her cup. “I wouldn’t be here if you were—he needs to have his head examined.”
Unsure if she was being deliberately obtuse, Deke clarified, “What I mean is … the personality you fell for was his, not mine. You probably feel like you know me. You don’t.”