Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Someone is fucking with me. They have labels on them just like the ones I use.”
“You label your keys?” I flinch. “Of course, you label your keys. It’s you. Sorry. Continue with your story.”
He shakes his head. “Anyway, instead of being numbered as my keys are, they have my phone number on them.”
“But they’re not your keys?”
“No. They’re not my keys.”
“Did you try them in your locks?”
He sighs, exasperated. “Yes, I tried them in my locks. Do you have any other bright ideas?”
“I don’t know. Give me a minute. I’m still mulling this over.”
He rolls his eyes.
I point my finger at him. “I’ll figure this out.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
“Ye of little faith.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Oh, perfect timing.”
555-555-5555: Bianca, 1 rx has been filled at MILLER’S PHARMACY AND WELLNESS. Please call 555-555-5555 with any questions.
“Where is Miller’s Pharmacy?” I ask, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
“Here. Why?”
“I need to pick up a prescription.”
“It’s at the front of the store. We can grab it on the way out,” he says.
“Perfect. Now, back to the keys—do we have any suspects?”
He turns the corner into the ice cream aisle. I smile when he reaches for the vanilla ice cream. I want to call him out and ask him if it’s for milkshakes, but I don’t. I’ll let him surprise me later.
I hope.
“Are we thinking it’s Banks?” I ask.
“That’s the obvious answer. But, no, I don’t think it’s him.”
“Why?”
“Gut reaction.” He stops at the end cap. “Regular chocolate syrup or dark?”
“Regular. Why does your gut say it’s not Banks?”
He drops the bottle in the cart. “Because this is a long game. Whoever is doing this didn’t expect to get a quick reaction. This has continued for over a month now, and I don’t think Banks has that much patience. He likes instant gratification.”
“Don’t we all?”
He ignores me. “There’s something I’m missing with this. I just can’t figure it out, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Who are the other suspects?”
“This isn’t something you can solve in the middle of Miller’s,” he says, chuckling.
“You don’t know what I can do. I listen to true crime podcasts while I run on the treadmill in the mornings. I know all kinds of tips and tricks about how to solve crimes.”
Foxx slows the cart and faces me with one hand on the cart. “When did you start running on the treadmill?”
I stare up at him. After you left to cope with the sting of rejection.
“We can’t forget hamburger buns,” I say.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I shrug, scooting him out of the way and pushing the cart myself.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” he says, amused.
“What am I doing?” I look at him over my shoulder. “Am I Foxx-ing you?”
“When did you start running on the treadmill, Bianca?”
“Do you have Dijon mustard?”
His lips twitch. “Bianca …”
I shrug, grinning. “I’ll take that as a no.” Then I pivot down the condiments.
He’s no more than a few feet behind me. I can feel him matching me step for step. My palms sweat against the handle, and my heart pounds harder the deeper we go into the mustards.
My body sings, happily reverting to muscle memory and how it used to be with Foxx. The easiness. The push and pull. The only place in my life where I felt truly safe.
“Here it is,” I say, grabbing a random bottle off the shelf. I toss it in the basket. “Do we need anything else?”
I turn to find him standing beside me, his hands shoved in his pockets. His face is unreadable, a mixture of annoyance and amusement. God, how I want to kiss it right off him.
“When did you start running on the treadmill?”
“What does it matter?”
His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Please answer me.”
I want to bury my head in his chest and have him hold me tight against him. I want something from him that I can’t have—that I’ll never have.
Because he values Jason more than he wants me.
So what does it matter if I’m honest with him or not? It won’t change anything either way. And it’s not like he doesn’t know I want him, just like I know a part of him wants me, too.
Fuck it.
“I started running a few days after Calvin showed up,” I say, standing tall. “I needed a way to cope with my life that didn’t involve my family.”
He takes a half step closer to me.
“And, as you know, I have no friends who aren’t on my payroll,” I say.
Foxx’s eyes darken as he searches mine.
“And the one person I trusted, although he was on my payroll, left me because we almost kissed one night.”
The words barely escape my mouth. My throat burns, and my mouth is dry. I swallow hard to try to relieve some of the discomfort.
“Is that why you think I left, Bianca?”