Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Then he moved toward the flagpole where my gaze kept wandering due to the disrepair the flag was currently in.
Crew pulled the flag down, folded it up, then walked toward a new flag that’d been sitting on the bench outside the front doors.
I turned back to Hades. “Do you want to go grab lunch?”
Please say yes, because I really don’t want you to leave.
And also, why the fuck do you captivate me so much?
“Sure,” she muttered.
Then she moved to the side of my bike and waited for me with her brow raised. “I’m guessing I need to give you a ride?”
“I had an Uber drop me off from the bus station,” she explained.
I picked up my helmet and offered it to her, but she shook her head.
“I’m the newcomer here, and you need to wear your own helmet,” she said.
I gritted my teeth and thought about trying to offer it again, but she wouldn’t wear it. I had a feeling she was very opinionated and would do what she wanted to regardless of my feelings on the matter.
So instead, I looked like the complete dick and shoved the helmet onto my head before getting onto the bike.
She got on behind me, as if we’d done this a half a million times, then wrapped her arms around my waist.
I was ashamed to say that my chubbie became a full-blown erection when she did.
The drive to the diner I’d seen on the way in was short but memorable.
When we got to the parking lot, I was wondering what it would feel like having her legs around me for a different reason and got off the bike.
I got a few ugly looks from a couple of bikers that were heading out, and I threw up my hands. “She wouldn’t wear it!”
The biker looked from me to her and back. “You got a hundred pounds on her, easy. Pretty sure you could get her to wear it.”
I snorted. “You haven’t met her.”
The second biker looked at her and said, “You should wear the helmet.”
“Respectfully, sir, you should go fuck yourself,” Hades muttered and walked into the diner.
The guy’s eyes were sparkling with mirth, and my gaze wandered to his cut.
Joker.
“She’s feisty,” he mused.
Feisty was too tame.
She was hell on wheels, and I’d only just ‘met’ her.
Tipping my chin up at the two men, I followed the girl.
When I got in there, she’d already ordered herself a drink and was sitting in a booth at the very back with her back to the door, almost as if she knew it was futile to fight me on the seat placement.
I took the seat across from her, signaled to the waitress, and she came over.
“What can I get you, sir?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.
“Water,” I ordered.
She left without another word, and I turned my gaze on the woman in front of me.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
I watched as she sat back in the booth, crossed her arms, and stared at me for long moments before she said, “How much has my brother told you about Tony’s situation?”
“Caristonia being Tony?” I clarified.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“All that he told me yesterday, and the one other time he asked for help, was that she had a stalker. That the police wouldn’t do anything because the stalker hasn’t escalated to anything violent. And, since y’all don’t stay in place for more than a week, you really have nothing to give to the police, who also confirmed they could do nothing without a little more information,” I explained.
She pursed her lips.
“We’re not quite sure when these packages started,” she admitted. “At first, everyone thought some of the weird packages were from me, since I’m also notorious for sending Tony stuff that makes her uncomfortable.”
“Why would you send her stuff that makes her uncomfortable?” I wondered, unable to let her finish her explanation without knowing that detail.
It was funny when you were getting to know a person, trying to find out why they ticked the way they did, that even the smallest of details could give you incredible insight into their mind, and who they were as a person. What formed them into that person.
Meaning I usually went where my gut told me, and this time, it told me to force the answer out of her about the packages.
“My sister doesn’t know how to have any fun,” she shrugged. “But, mainly, the packages at first were a way to stick it to my father. He freakin’ hated mail day. As in, if we got a package, and he had to go get it, he would go out of his way to keep it from us for weeks on end until we finally either stopped asking about the package, or chose to forget about it. Once the game was no longer fun, Dad would give us our packages, and we’d go on with life.”