Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 72669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I ignored her, and tried my best to ignore the glares I was receiving from the peanut gallery.
I also tried to ignore the man that was across the bar in the dining portion of the restaurant staring at me. Not that I’d actually caught him looking. Every time I looked at him his eyes were on his wife.
It was safe to say that I was in a bad mood.
Today I’d seen Booth for the first time in a very long time.
Which meant it’d been eight and a half long years.
And he hadn’t changed one freaking bit.
Well, the beard was new.
Before he hadn’t been allowed to have a beard. Now, though, he had a good one.
One that made me want to sit on his face.
I tore my eyes away, then decided I needed a bathroom break.
I’d just pushed into the bathroom and headed straight for the sink where I stared at my face. I was pitiful. I was the lowliest of low. I was the worst person in the world.
The bathroom door opened, and a gaggle of women crowded in, talking about a sexy man in a superhero shirt that was sitting close to the door. Meaning I needed to go or I just might get into a fight.
Especially when I knew the sexy man to be Booth.
Fucking Booth and his superhero fetish.
I slammed out of the bathroom, the door colliding with the wall as I went.
All eyes turned to me, even the bitchy little cheerleader.
“What are you looking at?” I snapped at the girl as I walked past her.
She sneered. “A slut who won’t stop looking at my married father.”
“Bitch, I will fuck your dad and make you my stepdaughter. Back the fuck off!” I hissed at the girl.
The girl’s eyes widened in shock that I would use such crass language in front of her and her parents.
Her mom didn’t look too happy, either. Her dad, on the other hand, looked calculating as he thought about the possibilities.
I wasn’t saying that I wouldn’t do him, because holy shit the man was hot for an old man. However, I didn’t do married men. Ever. Period. End of fucking sentence.
Which was why knowing Booth was married really gutted me.
I’d always harbored a secret hope that one day he would come back and let me explain. Let me try to grovel my way back into his life.
But now, with him married, that was never going to happen.
Never.
Ever.
The alcohol wasn’t cutting it.
Neither was the ignoring him.
I had to get out of here.
I looked at my watch.
It was thirty minutes past eight, and our dinner hadn’t come yet.
I’d promised Mia a girl’s day out, but there was no way I could make it through the rest of dinner with that man in the same room.
What were the chances that he’d pick the same exact restaurant that we were in?
My stomach felt queasy as I made a decision.
Stopping behind the bar next to the jukebox, I stood on tiptoes and surveyed the room.
I could just barely make out the top of Booth’s red hat he’d been wearing declaring him the newest member of KFD.
Mia sat at the bar with a plate of food in front of her, and I started to feel a wave of guilt.
I roughly pushed it back, though, instead pulling out my phone and texting Mia.
She’d understand.
If there was anyone in this world that would, it was her.
Then, without another word, I slipped out the delivery door and hurried across the parking lot to my Jeep.
It wasn’t much to look at.
In fact, it was pretty boring.
I’d gotten her when I turned sixteen and hadn’t looked back since.
I didn’t spend much time in my car, and, when I did, all I needed it for was to drive me less than two miles to work and or the grocery store.
I was a homebody.
I read.
I wrote the occasional review for a blog, and I worked.
That was the extent of my life.
I was as boring as boring could be.
And my Jeep proved it.
Opening the Jeep door without bothering to unlock it since it didn’t lock anyway, I started it up and backed out of the parking spot, unaware of the eyes that watched me the entire way.
My eyes stayed looking ahead as I ignored the motorcycle that I knew was his.
He’d had it for a long time, now.
It’d been in my parent’s drive enough, and I’d been on the back of it so many times, I’d know that bike anywhere.
I’d done things on that bike that were inappropriate, and there would never come a time that I didn’t look at that bike without remembering the infinite possibilities that Booth had shown me were possible on it.
My drive home was short, thankfully, because by the time I arrived in my driveway I was crying so hard that I couldn’t see.