Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Oh yeah, man… sure.” The men back away, grinning and nudging each other like they’ve just discovered a room full of naked women.
Cici stares at me, appraising. She must know hockey because it’s obvious she recognizes my name. Sweeping her hand toward the bar, she asks, “How about you let me buy you a drink?”
“How about you let me have my lunch with my friend?” I reply, an edge to my tone so sharp, she might just bleed from it.
Cici flinches, and that makes me happy.
There’s the asshole I love and adore.
“You’re going to have to move away from the chair so I can sit down,” I say, and she manages to look hurt and offended as she steps to the side.
I settle into the chair, scoot in, and pick up my sandwich. “Hey, Tillie.”
She merely stares at me, and for the first time in months, I have the urge to laugh. Like the genuine welling up of amusement that must be let out. I don’t, though, and manage to stun her further, but my next words aren’t for her benefit. “You’re looking very pretty today. I love your outfit.”
Tilden looks down at her clothing, back up to me, and blinks.
I do believe I’ve managed to stun her speechless, and it makes me gleeful.
Cici and her cohorts stand there staring, and now it’s becoming awkward. I stare pointedly at them. “Do you ladies mind giving us some privacy?”
They huff and look doubly offended, but they grab their purses and cosmos that the bartender must have set down while all this was happening, and move to the other end of the bar.
My head turns back to look at the woman sitting across from me.
Tilden Marshall.
My nemesis.
No longer looking befuddled, she glares at me. “What the hell was that?”
I glance back at the women, throwing a thumb their way. “Them? Looks like petty bullies who needed to be put in their place.”
“Yeah, I get that part. But what’s with the whole sitting down with my friend? We are not friends.”
“No, we are not,” I agree.
She frowns slightly. “And you’re… you’re… Coen Highsmith?”
“That I am,” I mutter, not with any amount of pride.
A moment of silence drags on before she asks hesitantly, “Okay… who is Coen Highsmith?”
No stopping the snort, but I do put a halt to a full-out laugh. Grinning, I set my sandwich down and pick up a chip. “Fuck, it’s refreshing not being recognized.”
She still stares at me.
“I’m a hockey player. I play for the Titans.” Awareness transforms her face into a mask of sympathy. “Or rather, I used to play for them.”
“The plane crash,” she breathes out. “I mean… I don’t watch hockey, or any sports, for that matter, but I did know about the crash. I saw it on the news.”
I don’t want to talk about it with her. In fact, I don’t want to talk about anything with her. We’re not friends.
“When are you going to clean up my yard?”
Her lips press into a flat line, and she closes her sketchbook. “I’m going there now, as a matter of fact.”
“Good,” I reply, popping the chip in my mouth and chewing. When I swallow, I add, “I’d hate to call the police on you.”
She ignores that last statement, instead sliding her pad into her purse and pulling out cash she then throws on the table.
When she stands, I grin up at her. “Oh, and there’s bird shit all over my deck. That will need scrubbed.”
“Bite me,” she snarls as she turns from the table and walks toward the door. I can’t help that my eyes fall to her ass, and yeah… her shorts might be considered a little matronly, but it still doesn’t stop me from admiring the curves under them.
If I had her naked beneath me, I’d absolutely put my teeth on her ass cheek and take a bite.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Highsmith. Get a grip.
Tilden walks out the door, and I glance over at the bar. Cici and the other women huddle together talking… no doubt about me.
The two men are blatantly staring, waiting for pictures. I don’t want to fucking do it, but for some reason, I’m not feeling the need to let all my anger and guilt out. I’m certainly not feeling the need to unleash it the way I did back in Pittsburgh.
Christ, I just willingly stepped in and stopped those women from torturing Tilden Marshall, who I don’t even like. If that’s not the opposite of asshole, I don’t know what is.
I pull out my wallet and throw cash on the table beside Tilden’s. She’s going to be on my property, working to clean up her mess, and I think I might go watch so I can offer unsolicited advice.
I try to ignore that I’m feeling the need to rev up my asshole engine, not because of what Tilden has done but rather because of what she’s making me feel. Resolved, I head down toward the men to let them take some selfies with me first.