Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Do I blend in now?” she asked, looking up at me.
My hands were still holding the sides of the hood, my knuckles brushing her jaw as I stood there looking down at her.
There was a strange pulsation in the air between us right then. It seemed to penetrate through the skin and pulse in my chest as well.
Cammie swallowed hard, her lips falling open slightly at the end, drawing my attention there.
Oh, who the fuck was I kidding? My attention was already there.
Was it fucked up to want to kiss the woman whose boyfriend you once murdered?
Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was.
But there was no denying it, either.
“Hey,” Traveler said, coming in from the front, making both of us yank away and turn. “Whoops. Bad timing. Anyway,” she said, going over toward her bag and fishing out some keys. “Take my car. They won’t even look twice at it,” she said, tossing the keys in our direction. “And even if they did, they couldn’t see you.”
With that, she was gone, and we had no choice but to shuffle a bit awkwardly out back to see what she was talking about.
“Isn’t it illegal to have tint that dark? Cammie asked as we approached the small pick-up truck whose emblem on the back said it was electric.
“Not when your father is the chief of police, I guess,” I told her, going toward her door to open it, watching the confused look she shot at me. “Mom would chip me with a frying pan if she heard I didn’t open the door for a woman,” I told her, getting a big smile out of her.
“I think I’d like your mom. Does she know that August picks fights with random women?” she asked when I moved around the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Ma has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to August. He’s the baby. Traveler gives as good as she gets, don’t worry. Better, even. It’s why he keeps pushing her. He’s used to getting his way. She won’t let him.”
“If they don’t end up in bed before you guys leave town, I would be shocked,” Cammie said, and my damn mind flashed to her in a bed instead.
Which was absolutely not going to happen. Not because I didn’t want it to. Despite my better judgment, I did.
But because there was no way in hell that a woman would fuck her boyfriend’s killer. Even if he hadn’t been the love of her life. Even if she’d let it slip to me that she’d been looking for a way to end things when he died.
So I did not just start driving toward the hotel like August suggested.
“So, where do you want to go?” I asked, looking over at her as she adjusted her seat.
“Where… oh,” she said, brows furrowing. “It’s so weird to have a choice,” she admitted.
“Try to pick somewhere out of this neighborhood, but somewhat close, so we don’t waste all your time on travel.”
“Okay. This is going to sound kind of ridiculous. But I want pizza.”
“Pizza?” I asked.
“Yes. Greasy, cheesy, fattening… pizza. Colin controls what I eat,” she reminded me, making my stomach tighten. “And I think he is sort of… punishing me for my coffee shop trips, even though he told me they were fine.”
“Punishing you how?” I asked, putting the car into drive because I needed to focus on something other than the anger starting to fester in my stomach.
“I hate fish,” she told me. “Like… everything about it. The smell, the texture, the taste. I hate it. I can barely choke it down. And he’s always served it because it is, I guess, healthier than other meats. But it was only maybe once a week. Interlaced with a lot of chicken or turkey. Lean stuff. But since I started working for his mom and coming to the coffee shop, he’s been serving it every single night.”
“He’s a fucking dick,” I said, sighing.
“He’s worried I’m going to gain weight from the sugary coffee,” she went on, making that anger start to spread. I could feel the flames lapping up through my chest and throat.
“So what if you do? It’s your body.”
“But in his mind, it’s not. It’s his. And his idea of me is in my high school cheerleader uniform. Which I am kind of shocked he doesn’t make me wear, actually.”
“No one’s body looks like it looked in high school,” I said.
“Oh, come on. Look at you,” she said, letting out a snorting laugh as she slammed her head back on the rest.
“I didn’t look like this in high school.”
“You totally did,” she admitted, making me glance over at her with raised brows.
“The only picture of you I could find anywhere was a black and white one from your high school yearbook. You looked like you. I mean, your face has sort of gotten more chiseled, but you seem about the same size.”