Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
“Never, you have a great ass. I was just going to give you some safety tips.”
This guy. “So, what is it you do, exactly?” I inquired after swallowing my fifth bite of muffin.
It was delicious. I made a mental note to ask him where it came from.
“I’m a detective.”
I almost through my coffee in his face. “You? You’re a detective?”
“What do you mean, you?”
“Since when do detectives fuck girls in parking lots?”
“Oh, my apologies. I must have missed the memo that said I can’t like pussy,” he deadpanned.
I laughed despite my rising sense of self-preservation to get him out of my house. It was an ode to my old family that I could maintain a poker face even if facing down the devil. He was the only one I couldn’t fool for long.
“What kind of cop are you?” I fished, breaking off another piece of muffin.
“Detective,” he emphasized. “Missing persons. Some PI work here and there.”
I swallowed, not liking the way either of those sounded. How many missing person cases was I complicit in? Hell, I was once missing myself. The PI thing was more deeply rooted in paranoia that someone linked to my past would be trying to track down my whereabouts after what I’d done.
“Isn’t that a little bit cliché? A small-town cop of all things?”.
He gave me an amused look.
“Isn’t it just as cliché for a woman to move to a small town and fall in love with said attractive, irresistibly charming detective?
Fall in love? I fought the urge to crinkle my nose. “That was actually pretty smooth, but I won’t be falling in love with anyone.”
“It’s too late; you already are.” He gave me a shit-eating grin, linking his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankle.
“Am I?”
“Uh-huh. We’re well on our way to becoming best friends this very second. Soon, you’ll be spilling all your secrets.”
All I could do was scoff at him. He had no idea who I really was, and it had to stay that way. Otherwise, we’d be fighting till we drew blood because he would have to cuff my ass and haul me to the station for a list of heinous crimes. And I didn’t know him either beyond being fortunate enough to find out he fucked as good as he looked.
With Maxwell, though, he just didn’t come off as sinister. It was terrible to keep comparing him to him, but I couldn’t help it. He was all I’d ever known. He’d always had something about him that alluded to having a dark side. God did I find out just how dark.
Maxwell lacked that. While it was nice, and he was likely a decent person, I needed someone that could match my fucked up-ness tit for tat. Or exceed it as he had.
“I have my identification in the car if you want to see it. If that still doesn’t convince you, call the station and ask about me whenever you want,” he reassured me, mistaking my silence for concern. “My last name is Harrison, for the record.”
“You know this isn’t how one-night stands work, right? I was never supposed to see your face again.”
“I’m not a one-night stand; I’m your neighbor,” Max stated, still partially grinning.
He was always smiling. I wondered what it was like to be genuinely happy and carefree, something I would never have the privilege of knowing.
“The neighbor I had a one-night stand with,” I pointed out.
“It wasn’t a one-night stand. I’m going to have you again.”
“Get over yourself.”
“And inside you?” he asked, leaning forward.
“You’re such a cheese ball! You did not just say that.”
We both laughed for a few seconds before his expression turned somber. When he looked as serious as he did right then, he reminded me of someone. I could almost trick myself into believing his eyes were as dark as obsidian instead of such a pretty hazel brown.
Jesus, Rose. What the hell is wrong with you?
“Will you let me take you out to dinner?”
Then he said things like that, smacking me in the face with reality.
“Maxwell. Max. Listen, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s never going to happen.”
He held his hands up innocently. “I just want to take you to dinner. As a friend—you’re new here, right? Don’t you want some friends?”
Shaking my head, I sighed for the thousandth time that morning. He was right: I did need to try to form more relationships here. I never wanted to live in fear or not live at all because of what I’d done, or who I was. But truthfully, I was scared. There were days I woke up and couldn’t believe I’d freed myself, that I had gotten this far.
That freedom, though. It hadn’t led me to happiness and what I did to achieve it would haunt me for the rest of my days.