Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Raff seemed excited too.”
“He’s just happy to be in a town where he can go out and see people. He’s extroverted like that. Needs people to charge up. They’ve always kind of drained me,” he admitted.
“I know the feeling,” I agreed. “I mean, when you’re really close with people, it’s different, but just people in general? Kind of exhausting.”
“What did you do for work? Did you work with people?”
“Not since I worked at a fast food place when I was a teen,” I admitted, remembering how the scent of grease used to seem to burrow into my skin and the strands of my hair, and it seemed like no matter how many times I shampooed, it never quite went away.
“I was doing billing at an orthopedic office. My grandmother had worked there until she retired, so she’d gotten me in on the ground floor when I was just eighteen, and I worked my way up. Until… God, they must have been so mad when I didn’t show up.”
“I imagine they were worried, not mad,” he insisted, sounding so sure.
“It wasn’t like we were friends,” I explained. There’d always been a bit of a hierarchy in that office, with the ladies at the front desk being the queen bees, and those of us who had offices because we needed quiet, we were kind of the outcasts.
They probably forgot my name a month after I was gone.
“What about actual friends?” he asked, and I could feel his gaze on me, penetrating, seeing too much, so I got myself up and walked over to the window, staring out into the lights of the city.
“I wasn’t really close with anyone,” I admitted. “I saw people casually. It was a small town, so if you went out, you ran into people. But no real close friendships.”
“Why not? Prefer books?” he asked.
“I mean, yeah,” I admitted, lips curving up ever so slightly. “But, no. I had some friends for a while, but then my grandma got sick. I was her caretaker. So between actual work and coming home to take care of her, I really just didn’t have time for anyone. And they eventually moved on without me.”
“Guess they weren’t really friends then, huh?” he asked, making me turn back. “Real friends stick by you when shit gets rough like that,” he said. So sure. Because he likely had friends like that. Men he was so close to that he called them brothers.
“I guess,” I agreed, suddenly realizing how true that was, how one-sided so many of my so-called friendships had been. How many times I would sit up until the wee hours of the morning talking a friend through a relationship mishap despite having to get up for work in a few hours. But when I was upset and overwhelmed by being a caretaker, no one was around for me to unburden myself to.
“You got friends now, darlin’,” Riff said, giving me a look with such gooey, sincere eyes that I felt compelled to believe him.
“You don’t even know me. I might be insufferable.”
“Dunno. Think I know enough. Don’t think twice about saving an animal in need. Look at books like they’re fucking magic. Don’t mind road trips. Didn’t get all grumbly when the snow put a kink in our plans. Gave up everything to take care of your gran. Know enough to say I want to be your friend, V. And, you know, Raff is your friend too. But I wouldn’t read too much into that. The fucker could befriend a lamp post.”
At that, a little laugh escaped me.
“That’s a good sound,” Riff said, giving me a soft smile. “Now. The question is… what do you want to eat for dinner? Looks like the town has everything you could want for takeout. Or eat in, if you want.”
“I like staying in,” I said. “But if you want to—“
“I like staying in too,” he cut me off. But I was pretty sure he would have said that even if he did want to go out. Which, I guess, was just more proof about what a good guy he was.
So we ordered in fried chicken with wedges and sat in our respective beds eating with reruns of an old TV show playing in the background.
“What are your brothers like?” I asked, figuring I would feel more comfortable in their clubhouse if I knew more about the people inside of it.
“Alright, well, fair warning, Slash might be a little scary right at first. He used to have a hard time finding women when we all went out because girls were afraid of him.”
“Based on what?”
“He’s got nasty scars across his face,” he told me.
“That’s… really sad that people judge him for that.”
“Yeah. He’s also heavily tattooed and has a voice like he gargles with rocks. But he’s a genuinely good guy.