Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”
I wish that were true.
I let out a breath, then lift my gaze to meet his. Darn but over the last couple of days he obviously hasn’t shaved, and the scruff along his jaw looks good on him.
Okay, don’t get distracted, I chide myself, then blurt, “Honestly, I didn’t message you back, because I’m not sure it’s smart.”
“You’re not sure it’s smart?” He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes wander over my face. “Explain that.”
“All right.” I turn away from him to place my bag of food on the trunk of my car along with my purse before I face him again. “I gave you my cell phone number at the airport.”
“You did.” He lifts his chin.
“I’ve only had that number for a few weeks. I had to change it when Mike wouldn’t stop texting me after I confronted him for lying about who he was,” I say, and a flare of anger in his eyes and his jaw ticking is his only response. “The very day I gave you my number, Mike started texting me again.”
“And so you convinced yourself that I’m him,” he deduces.
“It’s all too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?” I rub my lips together as my nails dig into the palms of my hands.
“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck, right?” He lets his arms fall to his sides.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly.
“I told you I’m not him,” his voice rumbles, and the sound vibrates along my skin.
“I know.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I…” I shake my head, at a loss for how to respond. “I want to.” And that’s the truth. I want to believe him; I just don’t know what to believe right now.
“What’s he messaging you now?”
“What?”
“His texts. What’s he saying in his texts to you now?” he asks, sounding angrier than before.
“At first, he was just asking me to talk to him.”
“And now?”
“More of the same… with some colorful language thrown in.”
“And for the last two days, you’ve been ignoring me.”
“I—”
“And in that time, have I given you any indication that I’m pissed, even though I’ve been pissed that you’ve been fucking ignoring me?” He leans in, and my chest feels like a weight has settled on it.
“I—”
“The answer to that is no,” he cuts me off and rubs his hand over his mouth as I stare at him, unsure what to say. Then again, I don’t need to say anything, because it’s obvious I’m an idiot.
I don’t know who Mike is, and even if it all seems like too much of a coincidence that Mike started texting me again after I gave Aiden my number, I see now that it is just that. A coincidence and nothing more.
“Jesus, I’m done,” he mutters, turning for his truck, and I open my mouth to apologize, to tell him that I’m an idiot, to explain he scares me and that I’m freaked out about the idea of liking him when he could go back to England, and that would be crushing.
“Aiden, I—”
“Do me a favor.” He opens his door, then his head turns my direction, and his eyes lock on mine. “Talk to the police about that guy. You can never be too careful.” Then, without another glance my way, he swings up into his truck and slams the door shut. And a moment later, the engine roars to life, and he backs out of my driveway.
With my nose stinging and my arms wrapped around my middle, I stand out in the cold long after his taillights have disappeared out of sight, knowing I messed up huge but unsure how to fix it. Or even if fixing it is possible.
Chapter 7
Aiden
I SCAN THE room as I walk into the police station, and it only takes a second to spot Noah. Even in uniform, he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the men and women he works with. Then again, at six-foot three, as wide as a house, and covered with tattoos, it would be difficult for him to blend in, even if he tried.
Growing up, my father used to tell me almost daily that Noah wouldn’t amount to anything, that I needed to cut him out of my life. I never listened; we were inseparable, regardless of the fact that we grew up in opposite realities.
His family lived in a small house on the outskirts of town, surviving paycheck to paycheck, his mom Rebecca was a single mother and a teacher at the high school. Our house was in the middle of town, right next door to the mayor’s, and my dad ran a million-dollar construction company. My mom stayed home—not to take care of my sister and me, but to be sure she made it to her biweekly nail appointments and was available whenever my dad needed her to accompany him to a lunch or dinner.