Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“This is almost like Drive Me Crazy,” Barry declared later as we stood in the men’s department of the only store still open. “I’m Chase. You’re Nicole…”
“I swear to fuck, Barry, you’re making it really hard for me to want to keep doing this,” I said.
“What? Just because you’re the girl?” he asked, making a group of teenagers snicker as they walked past us. “It’s a good movie, man. They’re childhood best friends who grow up to not be able to stand each other. They’re in different groups in high school. Nicole is super popular. Which fits for you. And Chase is kind of the slacker who got dumped and needs a makeover to be more desirable. They end up together by the end of the movie, though.”
“Barry, you and me, we’re not going to end up together. Do you hear me?” I asked, tone serious.
“Well, not romantically, no,” he agreed, grabbing a shirt that was a solid three sizes too big for him, making me grab it from him, stick it back on the rack, and grab the right size. “But we may be two platonic man-buddies when we are in the nursing home, talking about—“
I didn’t hear the rest of that sentence because I was walking away.
If there was ever a depressing thought that made you rethink your choices in life, it was your stray dog telling you that you were going to be ‘platonic man-buddies in the nursing home together.’
Barry was probably still prattling on to himself as I checked out with his shoes and shirt.
I went outside and waited by my SUV.
He didn’t emerge until half an hour later, carrying his own bag.
“Where’d you go, man? I got the goods,” he said, reaching into his bag to start showing me fucking DVDs.
“Put the shirt and shoes on,” I said, passing my bags to him, and tossing the one he’d grabbed to throw it into the SUV.
The bar with Barry was… an experiment in patience.
By the time he actually listened to my advice and walked over to a woman, I felt like I’d run a goddamned marathon.
He tripped over conversation with woman after woman, and I started to seriously consider hiring someone he’d have a good time with, but then he finally got an invitation to sit down with an older woman in designer shoes.
I nursed my drink, not wanting to leave him behind in case the woman decided she wanted nothing to do with him after all.
And while I waited, my mind traveled back to Shale. To how off she’d been. To the strange, niggling feeling that things were more serious than your average, everyday mini crisis.
About half an hour later, though, I saw the woman slide off her stool, then motion for him to take her arm as they started out of the restaurant.
And this fool gave me a fucking thumbs-up as he passed.
But, hopefully, he got laid and started obsessing about this older woman instead of me.
With that, I headed home, took all my fucking plants out of the tub, showered, and dropped into bed.
I woke up to a text from Barry, saying he was going to come over and tell me ‘all about it.’
I never fucking dressed and got out of the house so fast in my entire goddamn life.
And where did I go?
Straight to Deja Brew.
Where I got the confirmation that my instincts had been spot on. That something had gone horribly wrong.
CHAPTER THREE
Shale
I didn’t sleep.
How could I?
With the threat of the strong arm of a cocaine cartel hanging over my head?
I paced my apartment.
I drank too much coffee that only managed to increase my nerves.
Then, when it was late enough in the morning, I went back to the docks to meet with the manager.
Who promptly told me that there was nothing they could do, that it was my signature on the document, that the coffee was long gone, and that I should just order another pallet of it.
When I pressed that I hadn’t picked it up, he’d relented and scrolled through the video feed.
And there she was.
A Shale lookalike. Except her hair was the same pale purple mine had been a week ago, instead of the multiple colors I had now. And she was a little too short, a little heavier, but with a big black puffer jacket on, the hood mostly obscuring her from the cameras.
She was… close enough.
She could have fooled just about anyone.
Except me.
Because I knew I hadn’t been there.
There was no arguing with the dock manager, though. And he was getting aggressive enough to make me anxious.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I retreated. I went back to my car. And I cried the whole way to the coffee shop.
Then I went through the motions of getting things ready for the day, crying the entire time.