Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Evander turned his gaze to Harold, too, and would’ve paced over there to deal with it if the tow truck driver hadn’t been standing there, just waiting for him to leave.
“I don’t know who called in the tow, but it wasn’t me,” I apologized to the tow truck driver. “You can go now.”
Mr. Tow Truck Driver didn’t even hesitate to turn around and get back in his truck. More so, he didn’t even look back.
“Damn,” I said. “That look on him is quite intimidating.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”
“It’s Baylor here that you have to worry about,” came someone’s reply.
I jumped what felt like eight feet and whirled, staring at the dark-haired man who’d been waiting for this situation to resolve itself.
But the more that the ladies yelled at Harold, the more belligerent he became.
Little fucker was just that…a little fucker.
He was annoying, and I wanted nothing more than to shove my fist into the bastard’s face.
But that was done for me when Harold said something to Kennedy.
With practiced ease, he walked straight up to Harold, yanked the ticket book out of his hand, and shoved him so hard that poor, roly poly Harold almost went face first onto the ground.
The only thing that saved him from kissing the pavement was the car—Kennedy’s car—which he’d been trying to get towed.
It was really quite ironic if you asked me. Poetic justice.
“Go away and don’t come back,” the dark-haired man ordered to Harold. “If I catch you giving tickets like that again, I’ll be sure to do the same for you.”
“You can’t do that,” Harold said. “I’m the president of the HOA. I can write as many tickets as I want.”
“My name is Rafe,” he said. “Anytime you feel like writing a bogus ticket from now on, I’ll do my level best to slap you so fast and hard with a lawsuit that I know you won’t be able to get out of it.”
With that, this Rafe guy walked over to Travis’ porch, took a seat next to some kids, and proceeded to start playing a thumb war with a young girl that had to belong to Hannah.
My eyes were wide as saucers when I turned to Baylor.
“I should’ve recorded that,” I told him. “Who is that Rafe guy?”
“Rafe is Rafe. I don’t really know why he’s here. I have a feeling that he’s working for us because he’s doing something else, and the two jobs just coincide and working at Hail Auto Recovery just works well for whatever he’s actually doing here. I don’t know him all that well, and honestly, I’m surprised that he’s even here to begin with. He does, however, rent a house in this neighborhood.” Baylor snorted. “You want to go over there and eat some barbeque?”
I looked over at Travis’ lawn, which was now filled to the brim with people. Some of them I recognized from around town, while others I’d never seen before.
“No, not really,” I told him honestly. “I’m not much of a party person…or a crowd person.”
With that, I walked inside and let the screen door shut behind me.
I expected not to be followed, but I was.
The moment that I rounded the corner into my kitchen, Baylor was back, this time sitting at my kitchen counter.
“Why are you still here?” I asked again.
I was vulnerable and raw, and to be honest, I didn’t want him there.
He saw too much.
His over-attentive eyes were always on me, and it felt like he was looking into my soul.
He was the type of man who I knew could hurt me, too.
Charismatic, smooth, and overall, a really likable guy.
Just like my ex.
I steeled my spine and waited for him to answer, determined to tell him to leave once he was done explaining.
Only, I didn’t count on Baylor being well…Baylor.
He had a way of changing my mind on everything I thought I knew.
“I’m here because I want to be here,” he said. “And you’re right. Going over there where everyone can ask me ‘how the fuck I am’ and want a plain generic ‘good’ when all I want to tell them is ‘I’m fucking tired’ doesn’t sound like a fun time. In fact, I fucking hate parties. I hate putting on a happy face and being polite. I hate it.”
I watched him for a few long seconds, judging his sincerity.
Maybe we both needed a break from reality.
Tomorrow… tomorrow, I would do the right thing. Tomorrow, I would make sure that he knew that I wasn’t interested in anything that had to do with an ‘us.’
Tomorrow, I’d tell him that this wouldn’t work out.
Tomorrow, I’d be the adult I needed to be.
But today? Today I was going to do what I wanted to do.
And Baylor was the thing I wanted to do.
And I knew the moment that he realized that I’d given up and gave in.