Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“That’s worrisome,” Brallon good-naturedly jabs back.
“Excuse me!” Gwenith squeaks as the homeless man retrieves his bag from the ground. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him skulking around in her trashcan!” Her boot covered foot aggressively stomps the ground. “He’s not her friend! He’s some homeless junkie looking for drugs or needles or-”
“Ma’am,” McAdams instantly chastises. “That’s enough.”
“More than enough, Gwenith.” My protective nature increases exponentially. “You have no right to say that. You don’t know
anything about him or his life.”
“Neither. Do. You,” she bitterly bites.
Don’t agree with her! I damn sure know more about him than she does!
“Ladies,” Officer Brallon firmly states at the same time he holds his hands out at both of us, “let’s just agree from this point going forward to be better neighbors and communicate when we believe we have a problem. Understood?”
“Definitely,” I softly sigh seconds before more sleet starts to come between us. “Gonna go ahead and go.” Motioning my head towards the garage occurs next. “Pizza Dude, I’ve got a couple empty boxes in the garage. Do you mind tossing them in the recycle for me while I go to the bathroom? I really have to pee. Traffic was a nightmare.”
Only a small lie. I’m not actually going to go to the bathroom. I’m just trying to get him inside without getting him inside, ya know?
Mr. Green Eyes wordlessly nods and follows me to my two-car garage door where I type in a code to open it.
“Enjoy your night, Little Jaye Jenkins!” Officer Brallon insists on a warm wave yet turns a scolding finger point toward Gwenith.
I manage to hear the beginning of a lecture that includes phrases like “unnecessary calls” and “waste of valuable police time” on my way to the door that leads inside. Rather than going all the way in, I step out of view and casually point to the two empty delivery boxes I was planning to use for a library project, silently insisting he throws those away to make my story more believable.
And yes, we’re going to call it a story, because lie makes me feel really shitty about doing the right thing, which is not how doing the right thing is supposed to feel!
Pizza Dude tosses the boxes, casually waves to the officers, and presents me with a single nod to lower it the instant he’s crossed the threshold like I just reappeared rather than had been lingering around the entire time.
Once we’re officially alone, our gazes meet again.
His stare glows so brightly that I have to fold my hands together in front of me to prevent myself from reaching out to touch it.
Him.
How on earth is it possible to feel so many things just staring into someone’s eyes? How can you feel lost in such a way that you never wanna be found but found in a way that makes you feel like you’ll never be lost again? How can they give you breath yet take it away? Promise security and showcase insecurity?
It takes longer than I expect to find my voice, “So, they’re probably gonna circle the neighborhood for the next couple hours, especially with the way the sleet is picking up. Part of that is to make sure I’m not full of shit about who you are, and the other part is simply routine patrol during inclement bad weather. They get an odd amount of ‘emergency’ calls during storms like this. It’ll probably be better for us both if you wait here for a bit, but after that, I can take you wherever you like. I mean I don’t love driving in the sleet…,” my head gently sways back and forth as I feel inclined to be more honest, “I actually really loathe driving in the sleet, but I totally will for you.”
His dark brows lift in surprise.
“I just wanna know you’re somewhere safe…and warm…” The confession has me nervously biting my bottom prior to prodding. “Do you um…Do you have somewhere like that to sleep tonight?”
Mr. Green eyes keeps his distance.
His wordless nature.
Slowly shakes his head.
“Well, you do now.”
The declaration pulls his brow together in perplexity.
“You can stay here in the garage. I have a blowup air mattress you can use, plus the whole thing is insulated and has a helluva space heater to help keep it warm. My fiancé,” there’s no stopping my head from whipping back in forth, “er…ex-fiancé,” another frantic headshaking is presented, “deceased fiancé, which is definitely the worst of those three phrases,” I helplessly cringe and try to continue onward less awkwardly, “he used to build model cities out here.” Pointing to the covered, untouched structures nonchalantly occurs next. “It was the only hobby he ever had. And now that I think about it, that was probably for the best. That shit was expensive. And he had expensive tastes on top of that. Any other hobbies, and I’m afraid to think what our bank accounts might’ve looked like. Or our sex life for that matter considering how often he ended up touching those rather than me.”