Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Madison lowers off her tiptoes. “Wait, John sent you? You’re a friend of John’s?”
Dylan is back to staring at me, so he nods his answer.
Madison slaps him on the shoulder. “Cool. I hope you do take care of Paul. He’s a dumbass.”
And with that, Madison walks off to go back behind the counter. Thank goodness it’s getting later in the afternoon, and the coffee house is almost empty before the after-work rush starts. After looking around the shop, I lean my head back to look up at Dylan. He’s still holding on to my hand, but now his free hand is on my waist. Being this close to him touches all my nerve endings and makes me feel like my body is about to short circuit. It’s almost electrifying being held by his hands.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him.
He releases me and pushes his hand through his hair. “Do what?”
I shake my head and put my hand on my hip. “Do you know how crazy it is that you flew across the country for this? It’s not that big of a deal. I. Can. Handle. It.”
He points to the chair. “Sit down.”
When I don’t move, his voice softens. “Please?”
His eyes are pleading with me, and he did ask nicely, so I sit down and clasp my hands on the table. “Fine. I’m sitting.”
He sits back down across from me and pulls out a pad of paper. “What’s Paul’s last name?”
I stare back at him. Are we really doing this? I shake my head. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Not until I talk to Paul and know he’s not going to mess with you.”
I lean in and whisper, my eyes searching the coffee house before finally landing back on his. “You’re not going to kill him or anything, are you?”
“That depends on what he did to you.” He says it point blank and with a completely straight face.
I was joking. I never thought he would kill him. “Dylan, you can’t kill him.”
His hand tightens on the pen he’s holding. I watch and wait for it to bend and break under the pressure, but it doesn’t. “Are you still in love with him?”
I snort. Loud and obnoxiously before covering my face with my hand. “I’m sorry.”
He’s not laughing. His eyes are searching mine. “Do you love him?” He seems almost panicked to know the answer.
My hands drop back to the table. “I went on three dates with him. No, I don’t love him. But I also don’t want him dead.”
He flexes his shoulders and rolls his neck. “What did he do to you? Then I’ll decide if I’m going to let him live.”
Here we go again. It was hard enough telling my brother over the phone. It’s going to be even harder, face to face, saying it to Dylan. “Well, I broke up with him after, uh, I found out he wasn’t really a nice person, and he couldn’t believe that I could break up with him,” I tell him, stressing the I and him.
He grits his teeth and nods. “And?”
I roll my eyes. “And he didn’t like it.”
“What did he do?”
I sigh in frustration. “Well, first he started coming by my apartment. Which wasn’t a big deal; I just didn’t let him in. Then he started screaming through my door at me. I called the police, and they have been regularly patrolling the area. I haven’t seen him there since.”
He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. For just a second, I get preoccupied with the flex of his arms. He has really big arms for someone that does computer work. “Uh, and then he started coming here making rude comments. I’m getting random phone calls from blocked numbers, on my cell and here at the shop. And then—” I take a deep breath. “Then my car window was busted out. There was a picture of me, in my apartment, half clothed. He stuck it to my steering wheel with a knife, and it had writing on the picture. It said... It said, Fat bitch! You will pay.”
I try to act like it doesn’t bother me. I’ve long moved past the point where other people’s opinions matter to me. But it’s still embarrassing. All of it is. The fact he got that picture, what he wrote on it, breaking into my car. The whole thing makes me feel violated.
Dylan’s tone is harsh. “How did he get the picture?”
I lift my shoulders. “I don’t know. I didn’t give it to him, if that’s what you’re asking. And I’d never pose in my underwear. All I can think is he put a camera in my apartment. I’ve searched everywhere, and I can’t find it. But I’ve been sleeping on the couch because it still freaks me out.”