Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Hey, man. Are you going to help her up?” a man’s voice asked me from somewhere nearby. The corner of the green-eyed beauty’s mouth tipped up in a crooked smile.
“Yeah.” My Ivy League professors would have been so proud of my reply.
When I pulled her up to a standing position, she was facing away from me. As she turned my direction, she hobbled up and down, a spikey-heeled shoe on one foot and a flat on the other. She ended up standing on the foot without the heeled shoe which made me tower above her petite frame. She cocked her head back to look me in the eye.
“Thanks, stranger.” She smiled, straightening her hair and readjusting the bag strapped over her shoulder. “You might’ve saved my life. People die from falls like this. Kurt Vonnegut, for instance—one of my favorite writers. You’ve heard of him, right?”
“Slaughterhouse-Five.” I nodded, amused at this woman’s zigzagging brain. Her train of thought, mixed with her looks, could make a man dizzy. “He wrote about socialist philosophies.”
She flung a hand to her hip, which made her jacket open wide, exposing a thin white top with a laced edge. I tried not to let my eyes drift to her exposed cleavage, but from where I stood, I had an eagle-eye view down her top. Luscious mounds of snow-white skin were hard to ignore, so I didn’t. No man could, unless he batted for the other team, and even then, he might have to admire their perfection.
“Excuse me. Eyes up here, please.” She tapped her forehead. I had to give her credit for calling out my ogling, though I’d likely do it again within the next minute…maybe less. She narrowed her green gaze at me and took a deep breath. I prepared for a long stream of words to flow out of her pillowy lips.
“Typical capitalist answer.” She flung her hands in the air like she was giving up on me. Fine by me, but she wasn’t done. “Have you ever heard of Jesus?”
What?
“Are you kidding me?” I shook my head, wondering if my ears had stopped working.
I had no idea what trail this woman’s mind was following. Perhaps the one that led to the psych ward at Bellevue.
I side-eyed the counter, wondering if my coffee was ready yet. Surely, it didn’t take this long to make one of those cappuccinos. Instead of hearing my name, a guy called Thad took his cup of what looked like dessert. The drink had whipped cream on top with swirls of caramel laced over it. Disgusting.
“Back to Kurt and Jesus.” Apparently, she was on a first-name basis with the author, which meant I’d pushed a personal button. And who mentioned Him on Wall Street outside of swearing? “Kurt called himself a ‘Christ-loving atheist.’ He appreciated The Beatitude’s, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’ and so on. I think he liked Jesus because he was a champion for the underdog. You know, he stood up for hookers and sick people. What do you think?”
Jesus Christ. That was a direct call out to the man for help more than a curse. She was like a dog chasing its own tail. I needed to steer her back on track. Get her to focus, if that was possible. Truth was, I wanted a couple more peeks down her shirt.
I blamed all my lusty motivations on getting kicked out of Sunday school in sixth grade. Pressuring the nun to explain the word “virgin” didn’t go over so well.
“Wait a second.” I held up my hand, and like magic, she stopped talking. “Let’s go back to why you mentioned Kurt Vonnegut in the first place.”
“Oh, right.” She pulled her jacket together and buttoned it in strategic places, ending my vision of paradise. Dammit. “It’s a horrible story. He fell in his home, right here in New York City, and died from head injuries. Thus, you saved my life. Probably.”
“Then you owe me a favor.”
“Wow. Save a girl’s life and you expect…what, a quick tryst in the bathroom?” She waggled her brows and pointed to the lone restroom in the corner.
“Not that kind of favor for fuck’s sake,” I muttered the f-word under my breath for only her to hear.
This woman was exasperating. Though, I couldn’t remember the last time I had a conversation with the opposite sex that wasn’t predictable and sane. And boring.
“My bad.” She inched closer to me and circled her finger in the air, signaling she wanted me to spill it.
“Delete the photo you took of me.”
“I admit I wanted a photo of you, but only to show my best friend and prove I saw the hottest guy in Manhattan.” She glanced to the side as a pink blush washed over her face. “I didn’t get a chance, though. You looked over and caught me in action. Here, check my phone.”