Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Music blares from somewhere deep inside the house, and I can picture Morgan swaying to the music and singing at the top of her lungs.
I drop my stuff on the small bench before walking toward the music. As close as Morgan and I have become, I haven't spent much time here. I've always felt out of place in a house that has breakable things more expensive than my damn car. I don't know which room she's going to want me to sleep in tonight.
The music grows louder and louder, almost loud enough that I want to cover my ears.
It isn't until I turn the corner, walking past the kitchen toward the area that leads to her backyard that I notice the first drop of blood.
My heart kicks in my chest, my feet coming to a halt as I stare down at the trail of blood. I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to go further and find the source of the blood, but that whisper in my head that urges me to get to safety wins out over any of it. I spin around, rushing back toward the front door as tears spill down my cheeks.
I feel like a coward as I run, but it's not like I have the skills needed to hurt an intruder or save a life.
The music stops suddenly, the only thing missing is the record scratch.
"Where are you going?"
I nearly topple at the sound of Morgan's voice, and she looks shocked when I turn back toward her, a sob on my lips.
"Honey?" she asks, putting down some sort of bottles on the table before rushing toward me. "What's wrong?"
"I saw the bl-blood," I stammer.
"Does it look real?" she asks with a wide smile on her face.
"I thought you were dead."
She tilts her head to the side, confusion drawing her eyebrows together.
"Preparations for this party might kill me, but we aren't there yet. Let's get to work."
Morgan's idea of getting to work is grabbing a chilled bottle of wine and splitting it between two glasses that have no business being as big as they are, but I take it from her with a thank you on my lips.
She chuckles when I guzzle rather than sip the liquid.
"Bad day?"
"The worst," I mutter before policing the words that come out of my mouth.
"Tell me all about it while we get those floating candles hung," she says, and I wonder if we aren't going to end up with her blood spilled on the floor when she climbs the ladder and it wiggles under her weight.
I start off by giving her only minor details, but as the second bottle of wine comes out, I lay it all out, every detail, including the time we spent together in the shower and in the SUV.
She's glaring at me like I've lost my mind by the time I get to what he said last night.
"He's totally into you," she assures me, but I reject her assessment completely.
"He's not. He didn't ask me to stay."
"He doesn't sound like the type of guy that's going to coerce you into being somewhere you don't want to be. He's giving you a chance to go back to him with it being completely your idea."
I mull over this as I turn up the bottle, frowning when only a few drops come out into my glass.
"That's not possible. Men like that don't exist," I argue.
"Men like that do exist, crazy," she says, getting up from the couch. Decorating for the party lost its luster after we finished the first bottle of wine.
"I've never met any of them."
"Because there aren't many left in the world, and it was a chance in a gazillion that you found one in Las Vegas of all places."
I haven't spoken much about what he does for a living because he was quite secretive about it with me. I don't want to betray the limited trust he put in me by telling me about his job.
"Well, he can't even be bothered to tell me how he feels, so I don't think that's a man that I want," I mutter, holding my glass up when she comes out of the kitchen with another bottle of wine.
"You're such a liar. The two of you are going to work this out and have lots of babies. If you don't, I'll hate you forever."
"Better not start hating me until after the party, or you'll have to do the rest of this by yourself," I say, taking a long sip of wine.
Chapter 33
Heathen
I met a middle-aged man once at a bar. He was sitting there, staring into a glass of dark whiskey like he was trying to see his future, like the drink cupped between his palms held all his truths and he wasn't very impressed with the answers they were giving him.