Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Chris sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "All right. But if she gives you any shit here, you let me know so I know what kind of shit I can expect on my end."
"Deal."
***********************
Hayley refreshed a regular named Milo's coffee when she both felt and heard heavy boots crossing the wooden floor, coming toward her. She turned slightly to see the man Maria had called "Shooter". He stopped in front of her and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He had a tattoo on his right forearm, but Hayley didn't get a good look.
"Can I get you something?" she asked him.
"No," he replied curtly.
She frowned up at him. He had brown hair that was just barely long enough to get a little bit of a wave to it. His eyes were hazel and glittering hard at her. She couldn't think what she would have done wrong since until now she'd never so much as spoken to him.
She considered asking when he suddenly said, "You looking for a place?"
Hayley was startled and looked past the man toward the bar, for Maria, but she wasn't there. "Yeah," she finally replied, bringing her eyes back to him.
"I have one. About six blocks from here. In the opposite direction of the Rainbow. Which is where you're staying, right?"
She nodded.
"Alone?" he asked sharply.
"What?"
"You stay at the Rainbow alone? 'Cause I don't want more than one person living in my house."
Hayley stared at him. "Your house? I- I can't live with you in your house."
He gave her a look that made her feel about as intelligent as a hamster. "It's a house. That I own. Therefore it's my house. I don't live there."
Hayley considered this. "Oh." Hayley considered the odds of this man killing her in her bed late at night. "I do. Need a place. Maybe-" she licked her lips nervously. "Maybe I could take a look at it." There. She'd left herself some wiggle room. If this guy didn't ease up off the badass vibe, she'd just tell him it was too small, or too big, or didn't have a washer and dryer so she couldn't possibly live there. Not that most of her places had ever actually had a washer and dryer. But still, it was an excuse, and a decent one, she thought.
"When do you get off work?" he demanded.
Hayley bit her lip and again looked around for Maria. "Five. I get off at five."
He nodded. "Maria says you don't have a car. I could swing by. Give you a lift."
"No," Hayley said a bit too forcefully which made him narrow his eyes at her. "I- I have some...stuff...I have to-" Jesus. Hayley fought hard to get a grip. It had been a long, long time since she'd had a panic attack. Working around people so much, she'd pretty much gotten used to them. But this guy had an air so menacing that she suddenly felt like she'd just locked herself in a bathroom stall at a bus terminal in Dallas.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "I have some errands to run. If you just give me the address, I can meet you there. Say six o'clock?"
He considered her for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Hayley almost told him to forget the whole thing. But then gave her the address and reminded her that six o'clock meant six o'clock and she said okay, because he'd made it clear that there was nothing else to say. He turned and stalked out of the bar and she put a hand on the table next to her to steady herself.
"That's Shooter," Milo said around a mouthful of a Monte Cristo sandwich.
Hayley blew out a long breath. "Is he called Shooter because he kills people?" she said, half-joking.
"Yes," Milo replied instantly.
Hayley's head turned so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. She searched Milo's face for some sign that he was kidding. But the 60 some year old man just calmly chewed his ham and cheese.
"You're not serious," Hayley prompted.
"Milo!" Maria belted out, having come in through the swinging door from the back area. "Knock it off."
Hayley turned back to Milo and he started to cackle maniacally. Then she turned back to Maria. "So he is kidding."
Maria regarded Hayley, as if considering her answer. Finally she announced, "Shooter did three tours. One in Afghanistan, two in Iraq."
"Oh," Hayley replied. She thought about this. "But he doesn't kill, like, regular people."
Maria lifted an eyebrow. "Regular people?"
"He doesn't gun people down at stoplights or anything."
Milo cackled again. Maria shook her head. "No, hon. Shooter's as straight as they come."
Hayley looked to the door where Shooter had just exited. "Really? He seemed...intense."
"Three tours in Army Special Operations will do that to a man," Maria informed her.
"But he's not dangerous?" Hayley prompted.