Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Oddly, my threat eases the worry lines on his forehead. He likes when I’m sassy. Unfortunately, I can’t force down the urge just to spite him. I am who I am.
He ignores me and continues on, “My mom’s birthday is Saturday. I’ll pick you up around lunchtime.”
“I’d rather eat glass.”
“I’ll see if she can add it to the menu. Be ready at 11:15 a.m.”
“No. You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain either, asshole. Where’s my grade, huh?” I hold up my finger as if just now remembering something. “Oh right! You ran out of my apartment before you gave it to me!”
He looks so troubled, so remorseful. It’s the last expression I want to see on his handsomely smug face. Doesn’t he realize that?!
“I would take it all back if I could.”
He doesn’t understand how much those words wound me.
“Great,” I respond flatly. “Thank you for that. I feel so much better now. You mind if I get back to work now or would you like to keep annoying me?”
He doesn’t balk at my attitude. He stays resolute and firm. “Saturday.”
“No.”
“Saturday, Scarlett.”
If not for that glass wall, I’d flip the cocky bastard off as I walked away. As it is, I just have to imagine doing it, which is only half as satisfying.
When I get back to my office, I look down at the flowers and notice the tip of a tiny card poking through the top of the blooms. I didn’t catch it before, but now I bend down and yank it out.
There’s no signature, just three handwritten words in scratchy black ink on thick cream cardstock.
You were perfect.
My lip wobbles.
My chest squeezes.
I tear the note in two and then throw it in the trash.
Kendra’s looking over here because I guess I’ve been muttering to myself or something, but I just stare at her like, What?! and she quickly returns her focus to her own desk.
I’m not going Saturday.
Hudson will have to find some other idiot to take home to meet his mommy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hudson
I royally messed up with Scarlett, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fix things. I’m certain of that. She might want me to walk off the face of the planet, never to be seen or heard from ever again, but I can’t let that happen. I’ll fight for us. I’ll right my wrong and get us back on track…whatever that track may be. I’ll know it when we get there, I think.
I knock on Scarlett’s apartment door at 11:15 a.m. on Saturday morning, just like I promised I would. Moira meows on the other side as Scarlett’s footsteps draw near.
“Did you order something, Moira? I swear to god if you pressed buttons on my phone again when I was in the shower—”
Her lock unlatches and then she whips open the door.
She’s standing there in a thigh-length ratty t-shirt and no pants. Her hair is mostly falling out of a lopsided bun on top of her head, and her face is completely makeup-free. If the circumstances were different, if she wouldn’t drive a knife straight through my heart if I tried it, if we weren’t all wrong for each other, I’d lean in and kiss her. That’s my first impulse upon seeing her like this, disheveled and cute.
She doesn’t even say anything. There’s not a hint of shock on her face. She looks at me standing there like she’s bored to tears by my presence, then she promptly tries to shut the door in my face. I block it and push it open.
“Security,” she shouts half-heartedly before giving up altogether and walking away. “Or better yet, I’ll just call the cops. Moira, where’s my phone?”
Moira comes right to me, meowing at my feet until I bend down to pick her up.
“Moira, attack.”
Moira doesn’t listen to Scarlett. She nuzzles her little head underneath my chin, using my scruff to her advantage. I scratch her right behind her ears until she purrs.
“God, you two are pathetic,” Scarlett sneers.
I smile. “She likes me. Does she like everyone?”
Scarlett doesn’t answer that. She crosses her arms over her chest, props her hip against the kitchen island, and waits for me to explain myself.
I set Moira back down on the ground then deliver the news. “I’m here to take you to my mom’s birthday party.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Give her my condolences.”
“Scarlett, you’re going.”
“I’m not.”
“I see you got my flowers.”
They’re on her kitchen island, in a place of honor.
She sees me notice them, walks over, and swipes them right off the counter into the trash, vase and all. “I forgot to throw them away the other day.”
I smile. “Get changed.”
“Are you hard of hearing, old man? I’m. Not. Going.”
I walk past her into the bedroom on the right. It’s neat and tidy and it smells just like her. There’s more personality in this one room than there is in my whole house. She has framed artwork covering a whole wall, stacks of coffee table books beside framed family pictures. She has that white fluffy bedding that looks like it’d be as soft as a cloud. I’d keep looking around, but I’m on a mission.