Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 75240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Damn.”
I left without another word, and the whole damn way to the station I had a huge ass smile on my face.
A cheesy one at that.
Chapter 17
Moist.
-Because at least one person you know hates the word.
Angie
“They’re not that bad, I promise,” Bowe tugged my hand, and I had no other choice but to get out of the car or be dragged out.
And nobody wanted to see me fall on my face; well, the exception being the woman and man that were currently watching me through the parted blinds of their living room.
“They were really mad at me for taking you home,” I told him. “And they really didn’t like that you allowed me to stay with you when you’d just been hurt, and not them.”
“Swear, they’re awesome parents.”
I looked at him skeptically.
“They really don’t like that I brought all that trouble into your life,” I pointed out. “Which they told me.”
His brows lifted.
I nodded my head.
“They found out that you were in the hospital because of me and wanted me removed from your room,” I expounded. “Though, they never accomplished it because I refused to leave, and I knew your doctor.”
“How’d they find that out?” he stopped and turned to look at me.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You’re a firefighter,” I told him. “You were injured in the line of duty. Seriously, what’d you think the media was going to do with that?”
He shrugged.
“Two hours, that’s all we’re here for, then we’re headed to the Speedway.” He patted my hand.
I tossed him a glare.
“Swear it won’t be that bad.”
Yeah, it was worse.
It was terrible.
His parents hated me.
In fact, I’d definitely be on the top of their ‘I don’t like’ list if they had one.
At first it wasn’t too terrible.
It was a routine ‘meeting of the parents.’
We’d said the pleasantries, sat down, chatted for a small amount of time while his mother, Gianna, finished dinner, and I had a beer with Bowe and Marcus, his father.
Except, apparently, ladies didn’t drink.
The first sip of beer I’d taken, Marcus had stared at me like I’d just stabbed a rabbit in front of him.
At the second sip, I was fairly sure I’d stolen his prized beer from his secret stash.
After the third sip, I handed the beer off to an oblivious Bowe.
When I’d offered to help Gianna in the kitchen, on my way back from the restroom, she’d given me the stink eye and told me she ‘liked doing everything herself.’
Then dinner had been even worse.
There were two things in all of the world that I really didn’t like eating. One was liver, because who the hell liked liver?
Growing up poor pretty much ensured that a person ate whatever there was to eat without protest. A hungry belly didn’t care what it was fed, and I found that true mostly into my adult life.
I did not like spaghetti.
That’d been a staple in our house when I was younger.
Filling, semi nutritious, and cheap to make.
My mom had fixed spaghetti so many times that I could literally go my entire freakin’ life without ever having it again and it’d be too soon.
And, apparently, when one didn’t eat a proud Italian woman’s cooking, then you were offering a grievous insult.
I’d choked half the meal down, and had pushed my plate away because I literally couldn’t stomach to eat any more.
Which led us to now, as we were walking outside.
“I’d like you to come back to dinner next week,” Gianna was saying. “It’s going to be just us with the Terrences.”
“Angie and I will have to see what we’re doing next week. We will definitely have Alec’s kids next week, though, since we had to trade off babysitting services so Angie could go to the race tonight with me.”
“Or you could just come yourself,” Gianna suggested. “Let Angie stay home with the kids. I’m sure she has some studying to do.”
It all deteriorated after that, and I hadn’t said a word since we’d left his parents’ house five minutes before.
“She’s not normally that bad,” Bowe murmured, breaking the silence.
I shrugged, choosing not to reply to that.
“I’ll have a word with her.”
I shrugged again.
He sighed.
“My mom’s a proud Italian woman, and the fact that she wasn’t able to take care of me broke her heart,” Bowe started. “I know she’s not been the easiest to get along with, but she’ll come around.”
I looked down at my hands.
“I don’t like being around people like that, Bowe,” I whispered softly. “People like that make bad memories come back, and I don’t really want to have to go through that. I definitely don’t want my daughter to have to experience their dislike for me, either.”
He pulled to a stop not even ninety seconds later and I was unsure where to go from there.
Bowe, though, knew exactly what to say to put my nerves at rest.