Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
A not-so-subtle confirmation that I am aware he lied to me in the truck, not that he had any reason to look for one. He had no idea I knew he moved, let alone he was living at the bar he worked at.
Is he there because he wants to be?
Has to be?
Likes to be?
Doubtful. Crew might not have come from a safe, heartening place, but he was brought into one with my family, and while the adjustment was extreme, he came to crave the calm a quiet night under a warm, clean comforter provided.
I go about my normal morning routine, making my bed and laying out my clothes for the day on top, before heading to the shower.
The apartment is silent when I step into the hall, as it was when I woke with my earbuds wrapped up beside me, so there’s nothing off the bat that indicates he’s here, and I refuse to look inside the bedroom.
Besides, the door’s closed.
So I climb into the shower, take my time under the spray, and when I get out, there’s still no sign of the man. Returning to my room, I dress, brush out my wet hair and twist a small section on the left, adding a hot-pink, double-cherry hair clip and head into the kitchen.
As I’m squeezing the Hershey’s strawberry syrup into my glass of milk, a door in the hall is torn open and heavy footsteps pound against the floor.
Crew stalks into the kitchen like a bat out of hell.
I catch the excess drizzle from the tip of the bottle with the pad of my middle finger and swipe it along my tongue, while using a straw as a stirrer. I look up at him, and his glare comes out to play.
“Want some?” I offer.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Well, okay then. He’s had time to process.
I don’t bother speaking. He’s sure to continue, and it only takes two-point-five seconds of silence for him to get to it.
“You have been living here by yourself for a year and you didn’t fucking tell me? Does your dad know? I’m betting he doesn’t, because if he knew, then I would know. He would’ve done what you should have done and told me. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He drags in a quick breath, crossing his arms over his chest, as I draw the straw between my lips, watching as an array of emotions flicker across his face.
“Davis,” he snaps.
Tearing a napkin from the holder, I fold and set my drink on it. “I have a final in about an hour, a four-hour shift at the diner after, and this evening, I’m celebrating acing said final with pizza night at Jess’s, so I’m going to get going.” I move around the corner and his eyes follow. “The room is yours if you want it, for as long as you want it.”
“Davis,” he calls at my back, but my keys are already in my hand, and I’m out the door.
I’m half surprised he doesn’t follow and force me to talk to him, but I have a feeling he knows if he does, I can direct his questions right back at him.
We both know he’s not interested in answering, so for the first time, possibly ever, I have a leg up.
Knowing Crew, though, that will only last so long.
It’s almost midnight by the time I’m shoving my key in the hole that seems to have shrunk since the last time I used it; the dang thing doesn’t seem to want to fit. The key grows heavy and slips between my fingers, bouncing off my purse and clanging against the doorframe and my Willy Wonka doormat.
“Ugh!” I bend down, using the knob as support, and just as I’m at full bend, the knob is turned, the door tugged open, taking me with it.
“Ah!” I fall sideways, right into warm, waiting hands.
My eyes snap up, connecting with a pair of deep, marble ones.
I smile at Crew. “You stayed.”
Small creases form along his temple as he helps me stand, his arm shooting around my middle when I trip over his foot. My chest crashes into his with one single yank, and those creases deepen.
“Aww, you’re like a worried dad, waiting up and stuff.”
“You’re drunk,” he notes softly.
“Mmm.” I tip my head back and forth. “I’m a hair past buzzed, at best.”
“Only a hair, huh?” His attention moves to my hair then, and he lifts a knuckle, freeing the strands sticking to my ChapStick-covered lips. His gaze holds on the cherry hair clip, before returning to my eyes. “Better?”
I nod.
“This what you normally wear to pizza night?” He flicks the waist of my yoga pants, as his eyes focus on the falling strap of my baggy tank.
I shrug.
He frowns at my outfit. “Wouldn’t even call those pajamas.”
“Frozen pizzas, remember? We never leave the apartment, and it’s literally right next to mine. Shocked you didn’t hear us laughing through the wall.”