Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
I let the memory linger for a moment before speaking loud enough for Jake to hear over the music blaring in his ears.
“Marcus show up?” I call out and Jake startles, hitting his lower back against the counter and dropping a glass to the ground.
It breaks, cracking into a few large pieces rather than shattering.
Pushing off the wall, I take a few steps closer to him.
“Shit, dude,” he tells me as he slowly lowers himself to the floor, catching his breath, and starts picking up the shards. “You scared the shit out of me.” He starts to ask, “How did you get—” before stopping and looking past me to answer the question himself.
“Sorry,” I offer him and crouch down to pick up the single piece of broken glass that’s left. It’s a solid piece a couple inches long with a sharp tip. I slide my finger along the blunt, slick side of it, toying with it as I talk to him. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” It’s hard to keep the grin off my face, but it’s easier if Jake is somewhat relaxed. He needs to know to fear me, but only so much that he doesn’t do anything stupid. So long as he’s easygoing, so is everything else that goes down here. He can keep looking the other way and I can keep everything moving as it should.
“No worries, man,” he says as he stands up and deposits the chunks in his hand into a bin under the counter. He’s still shaking and instead of reaching out for the piece I’m holding, he takes out the rectangular basin and offers it to me.
I hold his gaze as I toss it in to join the rest of them.
“What’s going on?” he asks as he sets it back into place and pretends that he’s not scared. That he doesn’t look like he’s going to piss himself.
“How long was the girl here?” I ask him and take a look around the counter. This section of the bar is small and narrow. There’s a lone window on the other side and it’s cracked open, letting in a small breeze.
“Addison?” he asks, saying her name out loud and I don’t trust myself to speak as the anger swells inside of me, so I wait for him to look at me and give a short nod.
“Not long,” he answers and gets back to wiping down a few of the glasses still lined up on the far side of the sink. “She left right after you.”
“What was she here for?” I ask him and pray it wasn’t for a meet. They’re all done here. It’s the perfect place, in the perfect town. Any necessary conversations can happen right here. And any arguments can be settled in the back … with those bricks. But this city may be more useful and profitable. Time will tell.
“Just coming in for a drink.”
I nod my head and remember how I’ve found a few guys I know sitting at the bar, completely oblivious to what was going on around them. Like Dean. He had no idea; he was too wrapped up in his own story to realize what was happening here.
“Who is she?” Jake asks, interrupting my recollection.
“A girl,” I answer and then go back to being the one asking the questions. “She come in with anyone?”
“Nope, she’s single. She didn’t say she knew anyone or that she was looking for anyone.” He replies with the information I was hoping for. It was just a coincidence that she was here. But the way he answers it doesn’t quite sit right with me.
He’s a funny kid and a good guy in some ways, but he’s the type who looks the other way and likes to pretend everything’s friendly and fine and nothing fucked up is going on.
I don’t have any problems with him. Yet.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, she’s looking at going to the university. New to town. You know, that kind of thing.”
“Hey Jake,” I start and wait for him to look up at me. “How do you know her name?” My body’s tense and tight, even though I don’t think he has a clue how badly I’ll fuck him up if he hit on her. He’s a flirt, young and carefree. He gets plenty of action from girls coming in here to get a drink and drown out their problems with alcohol.
The fucker looks up at me like it’s a given and says, “From her credit card.”
I don’t like his tone, or the ease with which he talks about her. But my body’s relaxed, and the smile on my face grows as I tell him, “Of course. Sorry, she’s got me a little wound up.”
“I could tell.” My back stiffens at his confession. “I mean I get it, she’s hot,” he says, completely oblivious to how my hand reflexively forms a fist. He shrugs and dries off the last glass. “You want me to keep tabs on her?”