Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
He was fatter, older and generally worse for the wear, but I recognized him too. Sam Norton. Another one of my tormentors. He had been particularly cruel.
And he was leering at me in a way that made me want a shower.
My furious gaze found Brody’s.
His choice of drinking buddy told me what I already knew: people didn’t change. Brody Adams was still an asshole.
And unlike his buddy, he hadn’t received karmic justice in the form of a bald spot and a beer gut.
He deserved to pay for his sins. If karma wouldn’t do it, then I’d just have to figure out a way.
Chapter Four
WILLOW
It wasn’t my best idea. Not even close. In fact, it was my worst idea. But I had a thirst for vengeance. That and I’d drank quite a lot of whiskey. It turned out whiskey made me mad. And confident.
Revenge was a dish best served cold, and it was winter in Colorado; it was always cold.
Plus, I was drunk.
I made a snap decision when I saw Brody get up and head toward the restroom. My heart had thundered for a moment when he got up, his eyes on me. I had the wild thought he was going to walk up to me. There was a certain kind of intensity in his eyes that made my stomach pitch.
But no, he was Brody Adams, I was Weird Willow Watson. He wasn’t going to come talk to me in front of all these people, especially with his old buddy perched beside him.
Hence my plan.
I got up and followed him.
The bar was busy, and usually, that meant that the restroom lines would be out the door—the women’s, not the men’s, of course, because men had it easier in almost every way, down to not having to wait in line to pee—but for whatever reason, at that specific point in the night, I was the only one in the narrow hall that led toward the separate bathrooms.
I waited for Brody to come back, not meeting the eye of the couple of men who walked past me back into the bar.
I almost backed out. It was a stupid plan. But I felt I had to do something, have some agency over my past, have a victory somewhere.
Before I could lose my nerve, Brody rounded the corner. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me leaning against the wall. I pushed off, swaying my hips as I walked toward him.
“Willow,” he drawled my name, his voice deep and throaty. No friendly small-town cop to be seen. No, this was a different man.
“Oh, you remember me now.” I tried to sound teasing and flirty, but it came across as irritated.
His expression fell with what looked like genuine regret. “About that, I need to—”
“You don’t need to do anything,” I interrupted. “The past is the past.” I stepped in front of him. “I want to talk about now. About the fact that you’ve been staring at me all night.”
I surprised even myself. Avery, my best friend back in L.A., would be snapping her fingers in her version of applause, seeing me put myself out there like that.
She’d always pushed me to be more sexual, more confident. And here I was. All it took was three whiskeys and eighteen years of pent-up anger.
“You want me,” I continued, trying to turn my voice into a sultry purr. I didn’t know if I succeeded but I soldiered on. “I may not be super well-versed in the dating world, especially with men like you, but I know that all men look at women a certain way when they want them.” I was brave enough to step a little closer. “And we can keep it a secret, we can do it right here so no one will know that you stooped low enough to get into bed with me. Or in the restroom,” I amended, nodding my head to the doors.
Brody’s face was all hot guy melty when I spoke—giving me hope that the sultry thing was working—until I said the last part. Then his mouth thinned, his posture stiffened and he looked all around pissed off.
Through my drunken haze, alarm bells started ringing. Maybe I had read it wrong. His glowering gaze told me I’d read it wrong. Who did I think I was? I was still the weirdo he punished for giving him empathy, even if my acne was gone and I had discovered a hair product that worked for me.
He was not the same guy; he was more dangerous, had an air about him that read ‘don’t fuck with me’ … and here I was, fucking with him.
Before I knew it, he had advanced, and I had retreated. My back hit the wall. Not hard, but the cold, hard surface was jarring. I didn’t have a moment to get myself out of the situation because Brody was there, right there, palm flat on the wall beside my head, body so close to mine I could feel its warmth. His head bent down so our lips were inches apart. His eyes were still glittering with that dangerous fury.