Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
A laugh comes from the tips of my toes and nearly explodes out. I trap it by biting down on my tongue just a little too hard, which makes me wince, and he probably thinks I’m wincing at his suggestion because he frowns. “I think that’s more dangerous than a cab ride because I don’t know you either. And who drives to the bar?”
“Someone who didn’t plan on drinking.”
“Ahh, but you came by yourself, and you said you wouldn’t try and seduce me. You promised. But if you came here alone, not to drink, then you obviously didn’t come to leave alone.”
“Oh no. I definitely did. But now I find that I want to do something else.” He says that like he’s puzzled by it. There’s something about him. Something more than that old soul vibe. He truly does seem harmless, and I know that’s probably what one or two poor girls thought before something not harmless happened to them.
My better judgment finally wins out over whatever burning and lighting up is going on in my very dusty, unused lady bits. “I think I’ll take the cab.”
“Then please let me ride with you. I don’t have to come in,” he rushes to clarify before I can object. “I just want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll get the driver to bring me back here for my car.”
“But then you’ll know where I live.”
“I can close my eyes. Or you can blindfold me.”
“I have to tell the driver,” I point out.
“Right. Well…I can promise I’m not a creepy stalker. Plus, you have a dog.”
“He’s not that kind of dog.”
“He could…dog fart me to death.”
I nod. “He could do that.” Did he really just say dog fart me to death? I can feel myself starting to smile even though this night has not been exactly what I expected so far. Really, what’s the harm in letting a nice guy who also just happens to be super freaking handsome as a bonus ride along with me in the cab? It would be safer. And yeah, okay, I don’t think he’ll stalk me. Sometimes, people are just really nice. He didn’t have to wait for me to make sure I was okay. He didn’t have to offer to see me home. Unless he actually is a stalker.
In reality, I knew I wouldn’t be taking anyone home tonight. That wasn’t my plan at all. But maybe the universe has other ideas.
Mr. Tall, Dark, Ride-In-Your-Cab-With-You, I’m-Not-A-Stalker-I-Promise stands up and holds his hand out. “Sterling,” he says, his voice just a shade deeper, like it’s an admission he doesn’t usually make, which doesn’t make any sense because it’s his name. It’s not some dark secret.
I don’t shake his hand. Instead, I nod, grab a glass of water from the table, and slide it into his waiting palm without touching his fingers. For some reason, I think touching his skin would be dangerous. “Weland,” I say, and not as carefully or as reluctantly as I should either.
It’s just my name. I’ve only given him my name and agreed to share a cab for safety’s sake, but for some reason, I feel like I’m in all sorts of deep trouble that I never truly expected to find myself in.
Chapter four
Sterling
Iused my real name. I gave it away like it was nothing. I don’t know why I did that. Because I don’t do things like that. Ever. Fake names work just as well. Weland wouldn’t have known the difference. The night is almost over, and she’s almost home safe. But now she knows who I am.
She knows without really knowing who I am because Sterling means nothing to her.
The cab ride is pretty quiet. I ruminate on why I said Sterling, and she ruminates on, well…I’m not quite sure. But I do know that I want to find her asshole friends and do to them what my parents always threatened to do to me when I misbehaved as a kid—hang them upside down and whip them. Which, back in the day, was nothing to get sued over, but now? It’s clear I can’t do that. But I can sit here and fume about them being less than considerate. Didn’t Weland say it was her best friend getting married? My god, with friends like that, sign me up for enemies.
I know exactly what kind of condo Weland has, and I know her address already. Right now, I feel like an ass for pretending I don’t. The longer this goes on, the worse I feel about lying to her. But it’s only a few more minutes. I’ll make sure she’s safe, and then I can take off back to Florida and, from there, move on to London for business next week. I can finally stop thinking about her.
Because I’ll be able to stop thinking about her.