Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Plus, they worry about me enough as it is. No need to add to their list.
I slap my palm on the door in defeat before pressing my forehead against its cold metal façade.
“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” It’s Alec—because of course it is.
My knight in shining armor must have heard my call and now he’s here to save the day.
I point my broken apartment key at him. “Please just … go home. I can handle this. I don’t need your help.”
His expression falls, as if he’s somewhat sad about me not needing his assistance.
I mean, technically I do need help.
I just don’t want his.
“Shit. Your key...” He looks at jagged silver stub in the moonlight, then crouches to look at the lock. “What, did it break in there? How’d that happen?”
“Does it matter how it happened?” I feel bad for snapping at him when he’s trying to help, but asking pointless questions isn’t going to fix this situation.
Grabbing my phone, I dial the landlord’s cell—which is supposed to be on him twenty-four-seven, though I’m lucky if Frank answers it once out of every seven or eight times I call.
Frank Sangelo has slums like this all over Maine. He buys the cheapest material possible to keep these places running, including but not limited to these flimsy keys. And while he’s probably nestling all snug in his Kennebunkport bed, right next to the Bushs’ compound, all of us tenants suffer.
The phone rings six times before Frank’s signature gruff voicemail greeting picks up.
The sliver of hope I’d had when I made the call vanishes as quickly as the falling snow when it hits a patch of warm sidewalk. He’s never around when I need him. Not that I expected him to make the trip up the Maine Turnpike at this hour to help me out, but maybe he could’ve called someone.
“Were you calling the landlord or the locksmith?” Alec’s phone is in his hand, as if he’s ready to make a call if needed. Why he won’t take a hint is beyond me.
“Landlord.”
“Want me to call a locksmith?”
“I’m sorry, do you remember living in Sapphire Shores? This isn’t Boston. Everything closes by nine. Remember?”
He stoops again in front of the broken key situation, as if he’s expecting to fix it with his own bare hands or even telepathy.
For a moment, I wonder how it must feel to have succeeded so much in life, at anything you put your mind to, that you think impossible situations aren’t beyond your solving.
He jiggles the knob, working so diligently at it that for a second, I hold my breath thinking do-no-wrong Alec might actually fix it.
But then he straightens. “Yeah, no. You need a locksmith.”
What I need is a place to stay tonight, until morning, when I can finally call the locksmith or Frank to get me into my place.
I deflate when I realize the only option … is him.
No, there has to be a better one.
I gnaw on my cheek.
The neighbors behind us are not exactly friendly. Ted’s Pizza, across the lot, has been shuttered since the dinner rush ended. I don’t even have a car to curl up in.
I’m screwed.
Alec opens his mouth, and I know he’s going to suggest it.
But I’m not going to fall for that.
It’s bad enough that I fell for his promise of apologizing.
Stepping over to the window, I wade into the knee-high snow and try budging it up.
Funny, everything in Frank’s slums is falling apart, and yet his windows are virtually impenetrable. They don’t even shudder in their decades-old frame.
Melting snow seeps into my shoes, numbing my ankles as I shove against the window in vain. I’m already cold, tired, and hungry. Now I’m going to have wet feet too.
“Come on.” He tugs on my coat. “You can crash on my couch.”
Me? Alec? Alone? Together? In his apartment? After a night of drinking? I wish I could say it was him I didn’t trust, but if I’m being completely honest … it’s me.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say.
“What are you going to do? Freeze out here? It’s supposed to get down to twenty-degrees overnight.”
Freezing is preferable to staying anywhere near him. I don’t even want to think about what might happen if I entertain that. I’m still undoubtedly intoxicated, and Alec must know it from the way I’ve been singing, dancing, and stumbling around like a girl without a care in the world (up until a few minutes ago).
There’s no telling what I’ll do if he takes me home with him.
“Last chance. Going once,” he says, half-teasing though I know his offer is solid.
I stare at my locked door, wishing I could somehow teleport to the other side of it.
“Going twice …” he adds.
Using all my weight, I plow into the metal barrier with all of my might.
The only thing that happens is that I think I broke my shoulder.