Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Needing a pack of smokes, I pulled up outside a convenience store and parked my bike at the curb. It was a small store jam-packed with overpriced groceries and souvenirs for the tourists that flocked to Destiny for fishing and watersports on the river. The bell dinged when I walked in, and Kimmy, the young cashier with the tight blue smock and big dangly earrings, looked up from her magazine and gave me an appreciative smile.
“Hi, Chance,” she said, her eyes sparkling and roving up and down the length of me as I approached the counter.
“Hey there, Kimmy, how you been?”
“Good. Got you in those Hot Tamales candies you like,” she said proudly.
“You did?”
I got hooked on the cinnamon candy overseas. Another sniper named Pennsylvania Pete used to eat them like they were a staple to his diet. His mom used to send him over boxes of them, and pretty soon she was sending them to me too. I hadn’t had any since returning stateside and must’ve mentioned it to Kimmy at some point.
“I convinced Merle to get them in special.”
“Well, I appreciate that. Thanks, sweetheart.” I gave her a wink and a pink flush crept up her neck and across her cheeks. “Give me a pack of Marlboros and two of the Hot Tamales. Thanks, darlin’.”
Thrilled because I was buying the Hot Tamales she run up the sale and took my money. But she only charged me for the smokes.
“They’re on the house today,” she said, batting her long lashes.
I was about to insist on paying for them when I heard raised voices behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Merle, the store manager, arguing with someone hidden by a stand of Doritos.
Shoving the smokes and Hot Tamales into my cut, I stepped closer and to my surprise saw the blonde angel from earlier arguing right back at him.
He was accusing her of shoplifting.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
Both of them looked at me. Merle’s face was bright with anger while she rolled her eyes.
“I caught her trying to steal from me,” Merle said.
“And I told you I wasn’t!” she exclaimed.
“Then explain the cans of soup I saw you put in your guitar case,” he demanded.
He went to yank her guitar case from her, but she jerked it away from him. “Get your hands of it.”
“Listen, I think I know what happened here,” I said stepping in.
“You know this girl, Chance?” Merle asked.
She looked at me. My eyes never left hers as I replied, “I do. She’s playing at the clubhouse tonight, Merle.”
“Is that true, little lady?”
She could barely hide her annoyance, and I didn’t even try to hide my smugness.
Eyes still on me, she replied through gritted teeth, “Yes.”
I couldn’t help but grin because her mouth said yes but the look on her face said no. And her eyes spelled murder as she glared across at me.
I smiled and looked at Merle. “Listen, what we’ve got here is a misunderstanding. She’s simply put those cans in there and then forgot about them. I’m pretty sure this is just a big mistake.” I pulled out my wallet and handed a fifty-dollar bill to the grumpy store owner. “Here’s some money for the cans. Keep the change.”
“That’s fifty-dollars,” Merle exclaimed, distracted by the gross overpayment.
I winked. Crisis averted. Even if it did cost me fifty fucking dollars.
“Consider it a tip for the inconvenience,” I said, taking the girl by the elbow and heading for the door. “Have a good day.”
Outside, she yanked her arm away.
“You didn’t need to do that!” she snapped, stepping away from me. “I had it under control.”
“Yeah, you really had it under control. Merle was two heartbeats away from calling the sheriff on your ass.”
“So you decided to play the hero?”
“No. I’m just a normal guy who stepped in to help someone who clearly needed it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And now I suppose I owe you something.”
I thought for a moment. We still needed someone to play at the clubhouse tonight. And if the stolen cans of soup were anything to go by, this girl obviously could use the cash.
“That’s usually how these things go,” I replied.
Those fucking amazing blue eyes of hers traveled over my cut. “And I suppose that means I have to put out or something equally as gross.”
I admit I was taken back by her comment. Just because I wore a biker’s cut I was suddenly an asshole who took advantage of young girls who were busted shoplifting, and then expected a sexual favor in return.
But no one fucked me out of obligation.
And no one would.
Ever.
“Whoa there, California,” I said, taking a step back and raising my hands in surrender. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Cassidy,” she said, irritated by the nickname. “My name is Cassidy.”
“Ok then, Cassidy, its nothing like what you’re suggesting.”