Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Hey.”
My heart thumped madly at the sound of Timeo’s voice behind me. I turned to see him leaning against the pole supporting the archway, his face shadowed beneath a garland of greenery.
I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Hey.”
I didn’t miss the way he quickly looked me over, though he didn’t linger. I wore a cropped pale ivory tee with a simple pair of jeans. My hair was still long, draped over my shoulder in a loose braid. I didn’t wear a lot of makeup, but I dabbed on lip gloss and ran a mascara brush through my lashes before I came.
I didn’t know what he was going to say, but my hopes were high.
No, I didn’t think he’d go to the whole… marry me, thing. That would be a step neither of us were ready for. But a date… yeah. A date would’ve been nice.
A date with a promise of another.
With a deep sigh I felt in my own bones, Timeo stepped toward me. The sun was setting behind us, but it was an unseasonably warm night. I noticed he had a black bag, and something tucked under his arm.
Silently, he took the bundle from beneath his arm and unfolded it. A blanket. With a quick flick of his wrists, he spread it on the wide expanse of grass between the benches and the waterfront. Wordlessly, he sat down and patted the blanket beside him.
Timeo liked to talk. He could chatter my ear off when he wanted to, but I could tell something was bothering him, because he didn’t say anything as he arranged things on the blanket. Oval-shaped sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a few chilled bottles of soda, a large bag of my favorite salt-and-vinegar rippled potato chips.
My stomach rumbled. “Oh my God, I’m starving.”
“I know,” he said, unwrapping the first sandwich and handing it to me. “I bet you haven’t eaten since that bowl of oatmeal Eden made you this morning.”
I gave him a perplexed look. “How did you know that?”
“Easy,” he said, unwrapping his own sandwich. “You were wrapped up in that project you were working on. When you stare at the laptop like that and bite your lip, you’re in a world all your own. Wild horses couldn’t disrupt your concentration.
He untwisted the top of a bottle of water and handed it to me. “Speaking of. Drink.”
He watched me gulp it down approvingly.
“Listen, Starla,” he said when I had a mouthful of my sandwich.
“Mmm?” I wiped mustard off my lips with a napkin and noticed he hadn’t eaten any of his yet.
Soberly, he put his food down. “We have to talk.”
My appetite began to wane at the serious look in his eyes. I finished my bite.
“What is it?”
Timeo lifted his eyes to mine. “I have to go away.”
He told me everything. He’d promised Ricco a favor and it would involve him going off the grid.
“When will you be back?” I asked in a small voice, already choked up at the thought of my best friend being gone. I put my sandwich down, the thought of eating inconceivable as my belly clenched.
“I don’t know.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it only rose again. “Will you be back?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Timeo—”
“I’ll do everything I can to come back,” he promised fervently, reaching for my hands. When our fingers touched, something metallic and cold hit my palm. I looked down.
“What’s this?” I whispered. If I tried to speak louder, I would cry. It was clear he didn’t want to leave any more than I wanted him to, and I didn’t want to make it any harder on either of us.
I opened my palm to see a small, delicate locket on a chain. “Oh, wow. It’s beautiful.”
“Maybe a bit stereotypical,” he said with a smirk. “Locket and all that. But I want you to wear it while I’m gone.”
I opened it. I smiled at the picture of the two of us together. We looked so young and carefree.
“I will.”
“Promise me, Starla. Promise me that you’ll wear it, and if anything happens, you’ll open it and see me. Alright?”
I nodded, as he took it from me and slid it around my neck. “Yes,” I said on a whisper. “I promise.”
There’s got to be something like a women’s dressing room here, I know it, and not just the restroom.
Girls need things. Makeup and tampons and socks and deodorant and lip gloss and cell phone chargers and breath mints and those little stick things to take stains off your clothes.
I remember Quinn talking to me about this, right after she married Adriano. She said something…about a room. I wish I’d paid more attention when we were sweeping the club.
Ah.
There it is. Right off the main club floor behind the bar, I find what can only be described as a locker room, only it is not your average sweaty high school locker room. This is high-end shit — large glass containers at a vanity, filled with elegant mountains of cotton balls and Q-tips, amber pump bottles lined up by the sink labeled hand soap and body lotion.