Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Getting up at the ass crack of dawn, a coffee date, and then dealing with a full day of school, on top of having to see your ex-best friend and ex-fiancé multiple times that day, would leave anyone with nothing left in the gas tank.
The moment I got to my door and relocked it, I threw everything down in the entryway, then lost my bra.
I hated bras.
They were the bane of my existence.
I had a wider ribcage that forced me to go bigger on bras than my breasts could handle, always leaving me in a weird predicament. Either I got a bra big enough around that it fit my rib cage but didn’t fit my boobs. Or I got one that fit my boobs and was tight on my ribcage.
I’d tried the whole actual bra thing a long time ago when I’d first gotten enough boobs to need one and had decided that the sports bra life was the only thing for me.
But even those bothered me by the end of the day, so yes, that was the first thing to go when I walked into the door.
The next thing to go were my pants, leaving me in my thong underwear and socks as I made my way to my bedroom.
I hated when school was in session because I was expected to wear “teacher-appropriate” attire.
In reality, all I wanted to wear were sweatpants and oversized sweatshirts.
Speaking of oversized sweatshirts, I pulled Tibbs’s hoodie off the end of the bed where I’d left it this morning and shrugged it on.
I followed it up with a pair of leggings.
Slipping my feet into my comfy leather moccasins, I headed back out to the kitchen and got dinner ready—leftover pizza from three days ago.
I really needed to go to the store.
But things happened—i.e., me freaking out over my ex-best friend coming back to work and me having to see her every day—and I’d forgotten.
Leading me to now, eating pizza that was slightly stale, sitting on my couch thankful that school had started on a Friday this year, meaning tomorrow I didn’t have to…
Fuck!
I pulled out my phone and texted the group chat with my brothers.
Me:
What time are we fishing tomorrow?
Tibbs:
Seven. I’ll pick you up at five.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Dammit,” I muttered darkly. “Why did I say yes to that?”
The last thing I wanted to do was set my alarm for oh-dark-thirty in the morning to go on a fishing expedition in the middle of a Texas winter—don’t argue with me, Texas winters are way worse because of the humidity than any other place—but there I was setting my alarm.
After finishing most of the pizza, I left the trash on the coffee table and went to the bedroom, where I contemplated going to bed.
I’d been late getting home because there’d been a mandatory teacher’s meeting among staff to talk about ‘appropriate work behavior.’
I hadn’t left the school until six thirty. I’d then had to drive an hour through traffic to my apartment building in North Dallas.
Seven thirty is enough to go to bed early, right?
Six months ago, I would’ve texted Jolessa that and she’d say “absolutely.”
Six months ago, I had a best friend who meant the world to me.
Six months ago…
“Fuck it,” I said as I climbed into bed, then climbed right back out because I’d forgotten to change into a new tampon before bed. “That would be just my luck, right? Toxic shock syndrome.”
By the time I’d cleaned up—and even brushed my teeth—I was back in bed and still just as tired as before.
Since I hadn’t turned on a light in my bedroom, I didn’t have to turn any out as I fell face first into my bed.
I yanked the covers over myself and groaned. “I love my bed.”
I felt like I’d just gotten close to sleep when I felt something weird.
Something not quite right.
But I was too far gone into sleep to notice the darkness in the corner of the room.
Or the man that stood in that darkness.
I understand where Michael Myers was coming from.
—Shasha’s secret thoughts
SHASHA
The woman was a slob.
I’d watched in rapt fascination as she’d stripped the moment she’d gotten in the door.
A good man would’ve looked away.
Then again, a good man wouldn’t have been in her apartment in the first place. Though…
I shouldn’t be at her place.
Fuck, but I shouldn’t be in her place.
Yet, there I was, watching her fall asleep, like some fuckin’ creeper in the corner of the room, after watching her eat her dinner, strip practically naked, and brush her teeth.
I waited until she was well and truly under before I peeled myself away from the wall and continued my walkthrough of her place.
Her place was a disaster.
It looked like someone walked in and blew everything over with an industrial-strength leaf blower.
Mail scattered on the floor.
Plates, forks, and cups scattered over every available surface.