Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Me: She didn’t. We didn’t exchange names, but what are you talking about?
Chad: You sent me to those seats because you wanted to grab the number from your Friday bang. It’s Deek’s daughter. You remember. She’s vile, man. Stay away from her. There’s a reason I basically lived with you guys our junior year. It was her. She was at my house instead. Mom and Deek didn’t want us around her, she’s that bad. Just stay away from her. Trust me.
* * *
I never responded to his last text, and I deleted the whole conversation now.
It didn’t feel right having that in my phone.
Actually, none of this felt right.
10
Cheyenne
Cut wanted to do dinner on Thursday.
Cut wanted an explanation.
Cut was going to look at me like I was crazy, because well…technically speaking, I was. And boy, that was going to be a depressing conversation, so yeah. Not looking forward to dinner or the date, but I really was—but wasn’t at the same time.
I went to work the next day and I was a ball of nerves. That was really not a good thing for me.
“Yo!”
“Heehaw!”
That was my go-to startled reaction/scream. Do not make fun of me for it, and I rounded on Dean, giving him the stink eye because I hadn’t even taken two steps inside Come Our Way before he popped out of his office.
He was used to my heehaw by now, and he frowned for a split second before his entire body joined him in the hallway. It’d just been his head, and now I was the one frowning at his tie. He was wearing a Mustangs logo tie with his little hockey sticks cufflinks.
I made no comment, because this was the adorable five-year-old side of Dean. He truly was a fanboy of the team.
“So, we’re down a volunteer.”
I sighed. Dean was carrying a whole file of paperwork. And he was waiting for me, that meant he was going to follow me into my office, sit there, and not move until we’d talked about everything he needed us to talk about.
I changed courses, heading into the kitchen first. I was going to need coffee for this, a lot of coffee.
“Cheyenne-the-eye-of-the-tiger!” came from behind the grill, and our main chef lifted up one of his beefy hands, booming his normal greeting to me. He told us to call him Boomer, and well, judging by his greeting, you can see why. He kicked his head back and flashed me some pearly whites. “How’s it hanging with my especially fabulous-looking girl today?”
I gave him a smile back, but I didn’t try to keep anything from Boomer. He had the inherent ability of seeing everything, and I mean everything. If you had been anxious about something three days ago, he’d ask how that was going. Boomer and I shared something that Dean never would. We had both shared time on the streets, and there was a vibe we got from the other.
I thought those days were long behind me, like way, way behind me, but one look from Boomer and he understood. I wish I could look at him and know what he was feeling, but Boomer liked to remind everyone that he was our All-Knowing, All-Wise, All-Black Maestro. His words. I overheard him introduce himself that way to the new volunteer last week, and even she seemed transfixed with him.
“Boom, I need—”
He turned back to the cutting board but pointed to the coffee area. “Already got you covered.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I breezed past him, grabbing a mug asap.
I hoped Dean would step back, give me a breather for a minute.
Nope.
I got my coffee, turned back, and there he was. Still waiting, readjusting his Mustangs’ tie. Those cufflinks flashed again, and for some reason, that settled me. I grinned at him. “You going to get through the next dos dias? Need a fresca? A bebida?”
He frowned, twisting his tie the other way. “I don’t know what any of that means.” He lifted up the papers. “But I want to hash all this out before the first Mustangs get here.” His gaze dropped to my coffee where I was still pouring creamer into it.
I was a cream type of girl.
“You done yet? Want some coffee with your creamer?”
My grin spread, all slow like. “And there you are, thinking you can write the manual for office sexual harassment. You go, boy. You lead from example.”
He blinked at me. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” The moment was gone. I led the way to my office, and once inside, my purse was dropped on the floor. Coffee set on the desk. I dug out my phone and booted up my computer. First things first, right?
I grabbed for my coffee, and leaned back, taking a big whiff. This was my porn.
“Okay, Deano. Let’s do this.”
He just rolled his eyes at his nickname and pulled out the first sheet. “Cut Ryder was taken off the volunteer schedule for today. He might get in tomorrow, but they’re not sure.”