Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
His eyes narrow. He’s assessing me, gauging my authenticity. “I think she’s figuring out who she really is. She’s lived a very structured life until recently. She’s always had a lot of expectations heaped on her shoulders. She was constantly overloaded and had to shove aside her personal life. Now, she’s feeling her way through a new reality. But underneath all that, she’s caring. Sensitive.” He frowns. “She needs friends, and I’m trying to be here for her. So don’t fuck with her. She’s had enough of that to last her a lifetime.”
I open my mouth to ask him what the hell that means. How is he trying to be here for her?
But Bethany appears beside us, a little frown knitting her brow. “You’re not still talking about me, I hope.”
“Maybe a little.” He winks. “Like I was saying, I’ve got a car on the island and when I find a rental I like, you can crash with me if you want. In a spare bedroom,” he adds hastily. “And I’ll be happy to drive you home tonight to save Maxon the trip.”
“I got it,” I cut in.
Yeah, I don’t exactly have a car of my own, just like I know who she rides with is her choice. I also understand she and Lund are “friends.” But I don’t know anything about this guy except that he’s roughly her age, he cares about her, and that I see some sort of intimacy between them I don’t like.
“You sure you don’t mind?” she asks me. “It’s so far out of your way.”
“No problem.” I’ll figure out the details later.
“All right.” The other guy shrugs. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“Sure. My next day off is Sunday. If you still have time for dinner then, I’m up for that.”
“Let’s do it. I’ll call you.” He gives her a dazzling grin, then enfolds her in his arms and kisses her cheek like he has every right to touch her. “Good to see you again, shorty. Nice to meet you, man.” He waves at me. “Talk to you.”
Then he’s gone. I don’t dislike him. He seems okay. But he knows far more about Beth than I probably ever will, so in that moment I despise him.
Still, I can’t do anything except grind my jaw, count backward from a hundred, and try not to sounds like a possessive asshole. I’ve never felt this way. I don’t even know where this animosity is coming from.
“Hey, guys!” Andy shouts across the bar, and all the waitstaff comes running to the hallway.
Trying to shove down my annoyance, I follow, then listen as our mostly absent manager regales us with crap about a stopped-up toilet, a fraudulent string of credit cards, the wine shipment that’s late because of the holidays, and the fact that Terry is still out with the flu.
I can’t even grab a word with Bethany before an unexpected rain shower becomes a downpour. Drenched tourists rush in and the crowd suddenly goes from easily manageable to utterly insane.
By the time I look up again, it’s nearly ten p.m. Hours have passed in a blur. I’ve seen Bethany, but I haven’t been able to focus on where she is and if she’s all right.
A quick glance tells me she’s bustling from one table to another, dropping off the drinks I just mixed, before she wipes her hands on a dishtowel hanging from her waistband, grabs her tray like it’s a shield, and heads to the back corner.
Mr. Loud Hawaiian Shirt is waiting, and she looks nervous as she approaches.
I can’t hear them, but I can see he’s agitated, and she’s defensive. My gut says this is going to get out of line fast.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Ash as I storm out from behind the bar.
Stephen’s drop-in agitated me, but this guy’s bullying is sending my temper over the edge.
As busy as we’ve been, Ash doesn’t argue. Or maybe I don’t hear. Whatever. Former client or not, this guy isn’t manhandling or bruising Beth anymore.
“—the fuck happened,” he spits. “I’m entitled to—”
“Beth…” I put a protective arm around her. “Go. I got this.”
She turns to me, startled. “That’s okay. I can do this.”
“You can, but you don’t have to.”
There’s that indecisive little nibble on her lip again. She’s weighing the situation, probably her sense of responsibility, which is great, versus her fear and loathing, which seem pretty mighty, too.
“You sure?” she says finally.
“Oh, that’s it,” snarls the asshole. “Run away. Get your knight in shining armor to protect you. He must think you’re a helpless little damsel in distress. Ha! He doesn’t know the teeth and claws you have. He doesn’t know that pretty facade he probably likes to fuck holds an ugly bitch inside.”
“That’s enough,” I growl at him, urging Beth away from the confrontation. “Tell me what you’d like to drink or leave. Beth is a waitress, not a punching bag.”