Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
It’s raining again, but not nearly as hard as before. When I tiptoe around the side of the building, Matty is still outside the truck, pacing in the tiny gravel with his phone to his ear.
After my initial peek, I flatten myself against the damp vinyl siding, staying out of sight as I strain to hear what’s being said. The fan is too loud for me to have a shot at hearing the person on the other end of the line, but hopefully Matty’s side of the conversation will answer a few of my burning questions. I wouldn’t normally eavesdrop on a friend, but Matty’s strained the bonds of even my easygoing nature.
Easygoing? You’re about as easygoing as a hurricane, the inner voice mutters as I inch closer to the edge of the wall.
I ignore it, focusing on Matty’s voice as he gives a series of numbers to someone on the other end of the line.
I’m nothing like a hurricane. I’m just a little disaster prone. But when I’m not in the midst of a crisis, I’m a very cool, levelheaded person, a fact I prove by holding in my “Ah-ha! I knew it!” cry of victory when it quickly becomes clear my instincts were right all along.
By the time Matty says, “No, my cover’s not blown. I told Nora and my sister that I got in too deep with the Sweetwaters after I had trouble paying off a debt. I can still pull this operation out of the fire, Al, I promise,” I’m convinced he’s a spier, spier, with his pants on fire.
Then, he adds—“I just need a place for Nora and the cat to hide out until I’m able to smooth things over with Rex and Wimpy. Is the safe house in Sandstone still empty?”—and the last of my doubts are washed away in the increasingly heavy drizzle.
No normal person uses words like “cover” “operation” or “safe house” in conversation. That’s spy talk.
Matty’s a spy! Just like I knew he was! I’m so ridiculously excited about it, it’s probably unwise.
Matty being a spy doesn’t change things. Not really.
I mean, sure, it makes him about a hundred times sexier—an undercover operative on a mission is way hotter than a bad boy who’s actually in deep with the mob—but things between us still end the same way. Matty sorts this out, hopefully without getting outed as a spy or beaten to a bloody pulp by the Sweetwater thugs, and then he’s on his way out of town. Potentially to handle super-secret spy stuff in South America for all I know.
There’s no future for us, no matter how right it feels to be with him or how easy the conversation flows between us when he’s not being vague and secretive.
I should abandon hope of anything more than friendship between us, but a part of me—the same part that isn’t afraid to juggle maple syrup and a waffle in a moving vehicle—insists this isn’t the time to give up. This is the time to gather my forces, engage in some creative problem-solving, and, at the very least, make sure Matty doesn’t ride off into the sunset without a few steamy memories of me to take with him.
I’m not normally such a sex fiend, but Matty has always been able to make my blood fizz with just a look. And now that I know he’s a secret agent and defender of the realm?
Well, now, I’ll be lucky if I can make it to that safe house before my panties melt clean off.
Tiptoeing back inside, I place our to-go order at the register before dashing into the bathroom to wipe the rain from my hair. When I emerge, Matty’s sitting in one of the chairs against the wall where people wait for a booth, scrolling through his phone.
My heart leaps and all the things I want to say to him surge to my lips. But I stuff the words down and pull myself together.
I’m going to come clean about what I heard…eventually. But not yet. If I fess up too soon, he might not take me to the safe house with him, and I’m not about to run that risk. Not only am I keen to spend the night alone with Matty, I’m also dying to see what a safe house looks like. I’m a sheltered woman who lives with her grandmother and has never had so much as a parking ticket (despite my horrid driving skills). This is likely the closest I’m ever going to come to real life intrigue, and I intend to soak up every moment of it.
“Phone calls go okay?” I ask in a voice that’s remarkably cool considering how exciting all this is.
Matty looks up, turning his phone face down on his thigh as he says, “Yeah. Though I’m still not sure where we’re headed next. The place I was hoping to stay isn’t available.”