Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”
I don’t deny it because I can already feel the jealousy creeping into me. I never thought I’d be concocting a scheme to dangle my boyfriend as bait for my mortal enemy. A few months ago I would’ve balked at the idea that I could trust anyone enough to set them loose on such a mission. And yet sitting here, I’m not sure there’s anyone I trust more.
RJ made some mistakes in the beginning. I made a few of my own. But we got through it. Since then, he’s devoted himself to the cause of finding out who hurt my sister, risking a lot to get us this far and doing all of it without complaint. There aren’t many guys who would endure this journey. Especially for someone he barely knew when it all started.
Even if Mila is another dead end, I’ll still be grateful he got us this far.
“So, when do we execute this honey trap?” he asks.
The dogs amble over and sprawl on the ground, now worn out and panting at his feet. I lean over to snatch my phone off the table, then take a moment to scroll through social media. As luck would have it, a solution quickly presents itself.
“There’s a party at Ballard tonight.” I grin at him. “No time like the present, right?”
CHAPTER 38
LAWSON
IT’S NINE O’CLOCK, AND I’M COMFORTABLY COCOONED IN A swaddle of atmospheric soundscapes when Silas yanks one of my earbuds out. I open my eyes to find him looming over my bed.
“Let’s go out,” he tells me.
The meditative music becomes harsh and disorienting with only one half of the binaural arrangement in my left ear.
“Bro, pass. I’m still recovering from last night. Attempting to find peace and inner balance.” I grab my earbud back from his rude fingers. “You’re ruining my mindfulness.”
“Whatever. It’s Saturday night. I need a drink.”
“You can drink here,” I remind him. “I’ll spare you a Xany if it’ll get me out of any upright activities this evening.”
I replace the earbud, but now Silas is banging around in his closet and stomping across our creaky wooden floors, disrupting my return to tranquility. What a waste of a Valium.
“Don’t be a dick,” he says.
I grin. “Well, that’s uncalled for. I’m just minding my business over here.”
He tosses me an impatient look over his shoulder. “I can’t sit around this place another night trapped in this room or dodging glares from Fenn and RJ.”
In his defense, Silas has endured an especially rough couple of weeks. He’s managed to lose his girlfriend and make an enemy of almost everyone we know. I imagine he’s feeling a tad sensitive.
“Pop some uppers and get dressed,” he says. “It’s the least you can do.”
“Fine. But only because Scott is working tonight, and he’s the one bartender in this hick town who makes a decent espresso.”
“You’re planning to drink espresso at the bar?”
“I told you, I’m in recovery mode. Can’t remember the last time I got so trashed.”
I drag myself out of bed and push hair out of my face. Fuckin’ Silas. I just got out of the shower and put on my lazing clothes, and now he’s making me work.
He watches as I ditch my sweatpants and trade them for a pair of faded jeans. “Who were you chilling with last night, anyway? You totally disappeared on me.”
“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to ditch you.”
Silas and I showed up at the party together yesterday, but he’s not big on coke, so I went somewhere private to do my bump and wound up partying with a few guys from the Ballard swim team. Former teammates of Silas, in fact. But I keep that to myself. I know it’s still a sensitive topic for the guy.
“You ready?” he says after I throw on a hoodie.
“Sure. Whatever. Take me to the espresso maker.”
Except when we sidle up to the bar a short while later, I find out Scott apparently has strep throat. Jared is slinging drinks instead. The surly community college dropout always reeks of pickles and fresh animal carcasses, and he refuses to expand the scope of his beverage knowledge beyond the labels on the beer taps.
“If I gave you a hundred-dollar bill, do you think you could google ‘espresso’?” I suggest to his vacant townie stare.
“He’ll have a Johnnie Walker, straight up,” Silas interjects with an accompanying elbow in my ribs. “I’ll do a Guinness.”
Jared shuffles off to do the bare minimum required of his chosen vocation.
“Could you try not to be a pain in the ass all night?” Silas grouses.
“Hey, I was peacefully minding my own business and not even remotely upsetting the townsfolk when I was so rudely kidnapped from my room.”
“Since when are you such a homebody?”
Silas puts his back to the bar when his Guinness arrives, sipping it as he surveys the rather packed house. There’s a twinkle of ill-intent in his searching gaze that, coupled with his god-awful choice of beer, already has me wary of the night’s trajectory.