Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
And the longer it took, the more terrified I got.
So…yeah.
I wasn’t in a stellar mood.
And Eric looked delectable, all long, lean, muscled, black-haired hot guy lounging against my Mini.
But I was into him, and a girl could feel vibes, so I knew he wasn’t into me (which sucked…huge, until very recently, when I was figuring out he could be a dick).
So there was also that.
But straight up, I wasn’t doing this.
I started to head to the driver’s side door when he said, “The other guys think it’s cute. I’m older and I’ve been through this crap before, and this vigilante shit, it’s not cute, Jessie.”
That stopped me right in my tracks.
“I’m not being cute,” I whispered, my words trembling with my fury.
Because trying to find my missing brother who had significant mental health issues was nowhere near cute.
Finally, he pushed off my car and moved to me. I had to tip my head back because the dude towered over me, and I wasn’t short.
That said, even though I’d never had a guy that tall, I knew he was the exact perfect height to kiss.
Cripes, the hits just kept coming.
“I know,” he said, his voice having changed, back to smooth, even gentle. “But what you’re doing is dangerous.”
I tensed, my head so screwed up with worry about Jeff (and, I couldn’t deny, unreciprocated longing for Eric), it hadn’t occurred to me to spare a moment to cipher why he just happened to be here.
I felt my eyes narrow. “Do you know what I’m doing?”
“I’d like for you to talk to me about it.”
That was both sweet and not an answer to my question, so the second part negated the sweet part.
I abandoned that line of questioning to get things moving so I could go home. In the deep fall and winter, it got cold at night in The Valley, and suddenly, I was freezing.
“Homer looks after me,” I asserted.
“Homer?”
“The King of the Encampment.”
“And what do you know about Homer?”
“I know he’s the King of the Encampment.”
“What else?”
“What else do I need to know?”
“Is he addicted to drugs?”
“That’s not need to know.”
“Is he PTSD?”
“That’s not need to know either.”
“It will be, when he turns because he can’t find his fix and he’s going through DTs, or he’s having an episode and you’re in his space.”
“Homer’s solid.”
“He lives in a homeless encampment.”
“He’s still solid.”
“How do you know that?”
All right.
Enough!
I threw both my arms out and cried, “I just know, all right?”
“Jessie?”
I turned.
And sure enough, about ten feet away, there was Homer and about seven other dudes from the camp.
They seemed menacing in the shadows, but they were scraggly and obviously didn’t get regular nutrition.
Though, even if they were healthy, Eric was the kind of guy who could probably best the lot of them.
Another of those reasons why I was into him. It was clear he could take care of himself and any bad business that came his way, so in the end, if you were his, he could take care of you.
No one had ever taken care of me.
Not ever.
In my entire life.
“Everything okay?” Homer asked.
No!
“Yes,” I lied. “This is Eric. He’s a friend. And he’s not a fan of the hour I chose to visit you.”
Homer looked to Eric. “You’re right. It wasn’t smart.”
Oh my God!
Really?
“Homer!” I snapped.
He was still looking at Eric. “Make sure she comes when it’s safer. And come with her.” He jerked his head to the men behind him. “We’ll let you in.”
With that, he and his bedraggled, improvised posse shuffled back to the tents.
No help there.
“Jessie, look at me.”
I tore my gaze from the men who were fading into the mishmash of tents and darkness and looked up at Eric.
Mistake.
There wasn’t a lot of light, but the man was so handsome, I could see every delicious angle and delightful hollow of his perfect face.
And how did he get so close without me noticing?
God, I’d never been this close to him.
He smelled like rosemary and cedarwood.
Scrumptious.
And I suddenly got the whole magnetic thing, because even if I was pissed at him and in a crappy mood, I felt the pull of his hotness, and it was almost impossible to resist.
That said, holding a sharps container and being downwind from a not-great smell (though, the rosemary and cedarwood helped) in the middle of the night with a man who wasn’t into me but was ticked at me, wasn’t conducive to me throwing myself at him.
Then again, I wasn’t a throwing-myself-at-a-man type of girl.
I was a catch-me-if-you-can one.
“If you want us to find him, we’ll find him,” he stated.
Newsflash: I wasn’t only impatient, I was stubborn.
Oh, and I could hold a grudge.
So with this shit he was pulling, which was brand-new, it meant he had a whole year before my grudge wore off.
Therefore, instead of taking this supposedly hot-shit investigator up on his offer, I shot back, “I’m no one’s obligation.”