Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“What’s Cold Springs like? Other than the whole family thing, what makes Wren Ford want to live here?” he asks.
Oh, he’s done his homework on me alright. And now it’s my turn to do a little on him.
Chapter 4
JESSE
“Nah, I’m not playing tonight,” I tell the guy asking if I want to call next on the table he’s owning. Almost literally, he’s at five games in a row, and even Etta’s given him a glance to see if she wants to take on a challenger. “Eating and heading home after a long day.”
“Sure thing, man. Maybe next time.” He’s off to play with someone else before I shove another fry doused in Tayvious’s famous fancy ketchup into my mouth.
I need the simple comfort of the fry, which is God’s perfect food as far as I’m concerned. Forrest Gump might’ve waxed poetic about shrimp, but he should’ve focused on potatoes—chips, fries, baked, mashed, soup, salad, and more. Today physically sucked. My crew is busting ass to meet deadlines, and the overtime is taking its toll on us all. Tonight, my plan is to eat, shower, and sleep. In that order, as quickly as possible before my five thirty alarm goes off.
I’m basically face down in my plate of steak and fries, trying to hurry because my bed has been calling my name since quitting time.
“Did I hear you turn down a game? That’s not like you.” I lift my eyes to see Hazel looking at me curiously. “If nothing else, the money’s always sweet.”
Hazel and I have played pool since Etta taught us how as kids, and we’ve both made more than our fair share betting on games. We don’t hide our skills—no sharking and conning people—but if they want to take us on, knowing what they’re getting into, far be it from me to refuse their cash. Except tonight.
“Not feeling it,” I grunt.
She hums thoughtfully, and I brace myself for whatever she’s gonna say. Hazel isn’t exactly gentle with her words, especially with me. She prefers to punch me in the face with whatever she wants to express. “Have anything to do with a certain someone sitting over there with a guy who’s not you?”
That gets my attention. “Huh?”
When I drag my head up and meet Hazel’s eyes, she nods to the right. I look that way, and my heart skips a beat in my chest. “What the fuck?”
It’s not a rhetorical question, I really want to know what’s going on because Wren Ford is sitting at a table with some asshole. I don’t need to meet him, don’t need a “get to know you” conversation or anything else to know he’s an asshole.
One, he’s having dinner with Wren. Automatic asshole.
Two, he looks like the type of douchebag who gets his eyebrows waxed, has a multistep skin-care regimen, and has never worked a day of hard labor in his life. Extra asshole-y for sure.
Hazel props her drink tray on the table, leaning over it, to share, “Charlene said his name’s Oliver, he’s Chrissy’s lawyer, and Wren said things are strictly professional. Buuuut . . .”
She trails off, and I look over again. They’re both eating nachos, and Wren licks her finger, her red-painted nail disappearing into her mouth for a moment. I have a flashback of her doing the same thing, but in a much different situation, and take a deep inhale to steady myself when I see this Oliver asshole zeroing in on Wren’s mouth too.
Strictly professional, my ass.
“Hazel, getchur ass up here for this Fat Pussy!” Tayvious yells from the window to the kitchen. He’s serious about his food and won’t let one of his infamous burgers die in the window because Hazel or Charlene is too busy chitchatting to deliver it. “Or else Harold can get it himself, and you know he won’t tip for shit if he has to get off his ass.”
“Keep your panties on, Tay Tay. I’m coming as fast as I can,” Hazel shouts back. She taps her tray to the table, letting me know her work with me is done, and strides off, weaving her way through the tables and people with expert ease, though she warns, “Coming through.”
A lady bumps into Hazel, and rather than apologizing, Hazel glares at her until the customer apologizes.
Customer service isn’t exactly first priority around here, but nobody seems to care much.
My attention returns to Wren, and I watch closely.
What the fuck is she doing here? With another man?
Seriously? Is this some sort of ploy to get my attention? Because if so, it damn well worked.
But in the next second, I know the truth. It has nothing to do with me. That woman has had me in knots for nearly a year, easily ignoring me even when we’re in the same room, and I’m a complete nonissue to her.