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)
But I’d probably die of embarrassment if he knew how badly I drove with those two things added together.
I hated driving people.
I especially hated when new people rode with me, and I had to impress them with my driving skills.
Or lack thereof.
“Turn left there.” He pointed again.
As he directed me, we got closer and closer to the lake, and I realized the place was directly on the water.
I’d never heard of it before, either.
Based on the name—Ride’s—I couldn’t discern what kind of food they served, but based on the fullness of the parking lot, I knew it would be good.
I unbuckled my seat belt and got out, then shoved the small box of shit that I’d had in my lap the entire time into the back of my Jeep.
By the time that I was done, Shasha was at my side, holding his hand out for me.
My heartbeat accelerated at his closeness as I took his hand and said, “Thank you.”
He nodded, not replying, and placed the palm of his hand on the small of my back, guiding me up to the restaurant. He opened the door for me with his free hand and then waited until I was inside before raising up two fingers, again not saying a word.
The hostess snatched up a few menus and smiled widely at Shasha—definitely not acknowledging me at all—and said, “Right this way, sir.”
I rolled my eyes and let out a small snort.
Shasha’s eyes—god, they were so beautiful—studied me.
I fixed my features, causing him to smirk slightly.
“This way,” the impatient hostess urged.
I fell into step and felt the heat of Shasha at my back the entire way.
He may not be touching me any longer, but I still felt the fullness of his presence.
“Is here good?” the hostess chirped.
Since I had a feeling Shasha wouldn’t have one word to say to her, I was the one to answer.
“Yes, it’s great.” I smiled.
She’d put us in a very secluded part of the restaurant, near the back corner, farthest away from both the kitchen and the entry.
Shasha moved around me and took the seat with his back to the wall.
I sat down in the opposite seat and waited for the hostess to leave before saying, “There’s a trend going around on social media right now that my students just shared with me. They told me that a man isn’t a man at all if he gives the woman the chair and not the booth.”
His eyes studied me for a long second before he said, “If I have to shoot a man in the face, I can’t very well do that with my back to the door.”
I blinked.
Lord, I’m not asking you for my soul mate, I’m just asking you for the tracking number.
—Coffee cup
SHASHA
She blinked so cutely.
“I’m sorry.” She raised a finger to her ear and rubbed it. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“You heard me just fine,” I pointed out. “You’re just hoping for a different answer that I won’t be giving.”
She shook her head, her beautiful green eyes shining in surprise, and said, “I guess you’re right.”
“How do you know the woman that was killed at the mouth of my road?” I asked.
I saw her shoulders deflate.
“She used to be the school’s librarian,” she answered. “Her husband is a criminal defense lawyer.”
This I knew.
“Yes,” I said. “So I’ve heard.”
She didn’t have to know that I’d heard about the librarian’s husband via illegal means rather than hearing about it on the news like everyone else had.
“She’d told me in passing that her husband was harsh. She didn’t out and out say that he was abusing her or anything, but I could infer. There were bruises. One time he came in to pick up her car because his wouldn’t start, and he’d berated her for a solid ten minutes in front of the snack machine because she hadn’t answered her phone quickly enough. Which, might I add, she was in the middle of her school day.” I sighed.
Before I could finish, a young waitress arrived with a bored smile on her face and inquired, “What can I get you two to drink?”
“I’ll have a water,” I ordered.
The young girl looked to Brecken next. “And you, ma’am?”
She quickly scanned the menu and said, “Chocolate milk.”
I wondered if she was going to pay for that later.
I knew that she was lactose intolerant. Though, I also knew that there were multiple levels of it. Some just got stomach upsets, while others had much more intense and swift issues.
I imagined that if her intolerance was that bad, she wouldn’t be having chocolate milk.
“Wait,” she said when the waitress started to leave. “Actually, can you make that a lemonade?”
“Sure,” she said. “Our special is on the wall there.”
I didn’t glance over, not caring what the special was.
I generally tried not to order from the specials menu because I felt like the food was prepared in a more clinical way rather than taking the time to make a dish excellent.