Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
“Same room?”
Davis nods. “Wait, wait.”
I freeze.
“The wine bottle, it’s on the counter. Throw it away in the dumpster outside? It can’t be in the house.”
My lips form a tight line, and I can almost hear her unspoken thought… just in case. But I nod and she closes her eyes.
“Thanks.”
She’s feeling like shit now. Her brows are caved, and she groans as I lower her to the bed. She manages to get her shoes kicked off and her blanket pulled over her on her own, even if she is lying on top of the other half of it.
In the kitchen, I search for a water bottle, but she has none, so I fill a cup from the sink and take it to her.
She’s already breathing softly, but I bend down, giving her a little shake and her lids peel open. She smiles at the cup and pushes onto her elbow.
“Such a do-gooder,” she slurs, taking a small drink before lying back down and closing her eyes again. “But won’t do me gooder than someone else will.”
I can’t stop the small chuckle that escapes, and her lips twitch.
Davis sighs, my name leaving her lips in a soft, longing whisper.
Moving her hair from her face, I push out a deep breath, slowly rising to my feet.
The girl has no idea how far I’ve gone to protect her.
From the world and from me.
“Missed you too, Sweets,” I murmur.
And then I get the fuck out of there.
Chapter Five
Davis
My alarm went off at eight this morning, but after several uses of the beloved snooze button, it was nearly nine by the time I whined my way into the shower. Of course, the extra bit of craptastic sleep left me with a whole three minutes to get ready and rush out the door.
The diner is kitty-corner to my apartment complex, so I jaywalk my way to work most days, unless I have to haul ass from school and don’t have time to drop my car off first. Thankfully, all that is almost over.
The end of May is in sight.
Lucky for me, my manager gets one look, takes pity on my poor, hungover soul, and tells me to go home. I’ve never been much for arguing, so I oblige, doing the math in my head on how much I’ll need to save of last shift’s tips to cover the loss today.
Car after car zooms past, but before I can dredge up the strength to dash across the road, I decide home will have to wait. So I start toward one of my favorite places on earth.
7-Eleven.
Normally, I get a medium Slurpee, but today, I break out the big guns, going for the thirty-two-ounce full of every single flavor outside of piña colada, and snag the biggest-framed glasses I could find.
Right as I drop onto my preferred grassy patch at the park by my complex, my phone rings, Crew’s side snapshot lighting up the screen.
I really need to update that photo.
Accepting his call, I quickly swap it to FaceTime.
Several seconds of silence pass and I assume he isn’t interested in a visual conversation. Then the screen is filled with him. The man is still in bed, face half covered with a blue blanket, left arm draped above his head.
Tired hazel eyes blink, quickly narrowing. “Up and out already?”
“It’s practically noon.”
“It’s not even ten.”
“I said practically.”
He licks his lips, eyeing me. “I thought for sure you were still drooling all over your pillow.”
My mouth gapes. “I do not drool.”
“We shared a tent for years, kid. You drool.”
“Whatever, old man.”
His grin is a gorgeous mix of entertained and exhausted, unfortunately, as quickly as it comes, he cuts it, and he turns away from the screen. “Where are you?” he asks without looking back.
Straw between my teeth, I press a few buttons on my phone, and his gaze returns with a slight squint.
“It’s ridiculous you can send someone your exact location like that.”
“My dad thinks it’s the best invention since Pop-Tarts.”
“He still obsessed with those things?”
“Oh yeah. He calls me every time he comes across a new wacky kind. He found root beer flavored ones once.”
“That sounds like shit.”
I grin. “Knew you’d say that.”
Crew stares a moment before slowly pushing into a sitting position.
My attention is instantly drawn to the bronzy bare skin of his solid and powerful chest, which is now impressively decorated with several shades of black ink. “Um, excuse me, did you have a secret relationship with Kat Von D you’re not allowed to talk about, that why you’ve been MIA nearly the entire time I’ve lived here?”
His eyes fly up, narrowing, but then quick enough, he realizes what I’m referring to, and suddenly, I’m staring at a black screen. “Don’t move.”
He hangs up.
Being I had zero plans to move until my temples stopped pounding, I play golden retriever and obey his command.