Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
But his gaze wasn’t focused on me; it was looking past my shoulder, something he was seeing making a muscle twitch in his jaw.
When I turned, I saw my skip.
With his damn phone out.
Filming me with a grin on his face.
A growl bubbled up as I worked the other bracelet off the guy’s wrist. “Well, now you have a nice icebreaker for your next date,” I said, then turned and ran.
My skip had already tucked his phone away and started off at a mad dash, shooting off into traffic to a blare of horns and curses out the window.
I took off after him, ignoring the beeps and squeals of brakes. This wasn’t my first pursuit on a busy road. It likely wouldn’t be my last. And, honestly, I’d take a little jog through traffic over an endless run through an open field—leaving my chest burning and my legs feeling like jelly—any damn day.
At least this way, there were an abundance of roadblocks in his way—cars, pedestrians, lampposts, the occasional tree or sign set out on the sidewalk.
Clearly, though, Frat Guy’s four years of high school track were putting me and my grudging—often sporadic—dedication to the gym and martial arts classes to shame.
We cleared a full city block with him effortlessly gliding along ahead of me, while I huffed and puffed and occasionally shoved someone out of my way.
“Stop!” I yelled with what little breath I had left as he flew around a corner.
I was just rounding that same corner when he popped out of nowhere, ramming into me so hard that I actually went airborne for a split second before I landed hard on my side.
I folded up with a curse that would make both my parents—connoisseurs of foul language themselves—proud.
He didn’t know it—with his smug little smirk before he turned and ran again—that he’d just screwed up.
I could handle a little chase down the road. Hey, my heart sure appreciated a workout after all the many fast food meals I’d made it endure the past week. I was even fine with leaping over chairs and tackling someone to the ground.
But taking a cheap shot and shoving me to the ground?
He’d just taken me from a professional on an—admittedly frustrating—job to simply a pissed-off woman who wanted someone to pay.
I dragged myself off the ground, feeling the gravel biting into my arm and the warm trickle that had to be blood sliding down my skin.
I could see Frat Guy a couple blocks ahead, casting glances back at me as he waited for the rush of traffic to slow so he could cross to the next street.
He might have been younger, more fit, and determined not to spend the next few years in a cage next to someone who liked to tell him what pretty eyes he had. But I had a bruised ego—and hip—along with the promise of thirty grand to motivate me.
I didn’t have the home field advantage, but I did have the memory of the maps I’d pored over when I’d gotten a lead to him being seen in this town.
So I opted out of following him, cutting up the next street instead, allowing me to make my way up the less crowded street, then cut back across.
I didn’t beat him.
But now I was only a few feet behind him.
I was so glad that he looked back over his shoulder, so I could see the shock on his face just a second before I tackled him to the ground.
“Hey, that’s assault,” he grumbled after I cuffed him and my hand patted his back pocket, then fished out his cell.
Whipping him over, I used his face to unlock it, scrolled to his videos, then deleted the one he’d been filming of me—along with his brilliant commentary about the poor idiot I’d tackled the first time that had literally offered to buy the nu metal shirt off his back.
“Pro tip,” I said as I hauled him to his feet. “If you’re going to skip out on bail, maybe go further than the tristate area. I know it might mean you’d actually have to finally cut the umbilical cord, but at least you would have saved yourself this embarrassment.”
I swear there was some sort of unwritten law that guys who were gonna skip out on bail were horrible mama’s boys. This guy’s mom had actually taken to her social media to insist that her son would never have stolen a car from work if he’d known he wasn’t allowed to joy ride in it.
Like… what?
“My lawyer is going to sue you for attacking me.”
“Shut up, or I will actually attack you.”
“You’re not allowed to manhandle me. There’s a reason there are laws against excessive force.”
“Newsflash: I’m not a cop. That law doesn’t apply to me. And considering I’m the only one actively bleeding right now, not even that fancy suit your daddy hired is going to sue me.”