Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Nah, but thanks for the invite.”
“You almost forgot, didn’t you?” Angel asked, making me frown.
“Forgot what?”
“That you won’t let yourself be happy.”
What he didn’t know was that after everything, I didn’t deserve to be happy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Gage
I had been in LA for six months. I spent the first weeks trying to find a job at an auto-repair shop, with no luck. I’d even started looking at places like restaurants and fast-food. Something. But when you had to check the box that said yes, you had been convicted of a felony, people weren’t real eager to hire you. I’d thought about lying, but knew the background checks kept the felony on file for seven years after getting released. The only reason I was able to survive was because Darrel’s rent was cheap and I’d been able to save money before moving here.
It had been a fucking mess. At least in Sacramento I had a reliable job. Hell, I still thought moving to LA might have been a bad decision. Just filling out the applications was exhausting because even though I read better than I used to, I still wasn’t good at it, and it got worse when I was stressed. It took me triple the time to fill one out than it should, and I was sure there were spelling mistakes.
Finally, Darrel had talked to a friend of his. He worked construction and had been willing to take a chance on me because Darrel vouched for me. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let myself fuck this up and come back on Darrel.
He was a good guy, always trying to be friends with me, asking me in for dinner or trying to talk to me, but it was hard. I didn’t know what to say to him, was afraid of him digging too deep because that was what he did for his job—got into people’s heads. My thoughts were an ugly place after what I’d seen and been through, but there were times I wanted to give in, wanted to simply talk to someone. When I was younger I’d been a people person. I had my crew of friends, but I also chatted with everyone. I lost that with one swing of the bat.
I shook those thoughts from my head, the vision that still played sometimes.
I hadn’t seen Jojo—of course I hadn’t. The city was so big, we could both live there for the rest of our lives and never run into each other.
I was a bit of a creeper, however, and hard as it was, I’d done some research on Romeo. He was a history professor at a local community college.
It was a Saturday, and I’d just gotten home from the grocery store. Darrel was outside, shirtless, doing work in the backyard. My eyes scanned his body as I rounded the house, heading for the casita where I lived.
A low heat filled my gut. It had been a long time since I’d been touched, really been touched by another person. I’d fucked, but even that hadn’t happened since I came to LA. But to really touch and savor? I’d only had that with Jojo, and I missed it; Christ, I fucking missed it, and hated myself for it at the same time.
Darrel turned the weed eater off. “Hey.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Hi.” I had a couple of reusable grocery bags in my hands. We stood there a moment, and I knew I should offer to help. I was renting from him. Yardwork was something I should help with. “I can go in and put this shit down, then give you a hand.”
“Yeah? Well, good thing for you, I’m done for the day.” Darrel winked. “But I already have the grill going. You can sit down and have some tea and eat with me.”
I suddenly felt like I’d been led into a trap, but instead of being annoyed, a small smile tugged at my lips. It wasn’t as if I could make up an excuse now, so I said, “I can do that. Let me put this stuff away.”
“I’ll go in and clean up a bit.”
We nodded, Darrel going to his place and me toward mine. When I inhaled, I realized I could smell the scent of smoked meat. Darrel had one of those grills that was also a smoker. He often had food going half the day out there.
It was early for dinner, but as I put my groceries away, thinking about whatever he was making, my stomach growled softly. I’d skipped lunch, but then worked up an appetite with a long jog earlier. Which reminded me that I needed to get back into going to the gym. It had saved me in Sacramento, but I hadn’t dared risk joining in LA until I had a job. Then, just in case, I thought I’d wait one month, which became two, and so on. The running helped, but I missed resistance, pushing my body to the limit because it made me feel something.