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)
There was no other recourse for me right now.
To remain sane…
I opened the group text up and started to thumb to the settings at the top when a text caught my eye.
Rita Thompson:
I couldn’t believe it either! She was hit on the side of the road leading to that house at the lake! The huge mansion with that massive wrought-iron gate that looks like it could keep prisoners from the state pen out! Right down the road from it. The guy that lives there gave a statement and said that he was saddened to hear the news, and he’s fully cooperating with police on the matter. A hit and run. She was killed instantly.
What the hell?
I scrolled up and realized who it was they were talking about.
Oh, my god.
I switched to the news app on my phone, and sure enough, the first story that popped up was the one I was searching for.
The mystery of the woman who was hit by a car late last night from a hit-and-run has been identified as missing thirty-two-year-old librarian from West Dallas High.
Oh. My. God.
You all spend thousands on shoes, but your pillow looks like a tea bag.
—Shasha to Dima
SHASHA
Present day
“What can I do for you, sir?”
I looked at the barista and wondered if she had any other inclinations in life but to be paid to sell coffee.
She’d been working there for the better part of my time living in Dallas and looked as if she had no desire to do anything else.
But, since she still didn’t know my order, and I’d been a regular customer here, at the same time every single day, for the past five years, I kind of saw why she hadn’t moved on. Or, at least, up to a more managerial position.
“Tall black coffee,” I ordered.
“Any sugar?” she asked.
“No, plain and black,” I answered the same way I did every time she asked my order.
“That’ll be two-fifty,” she said.
I tapped my phone to the card reader and shoved it back into my pocket before moving to the end of the counter to wait for my coffee.
As I did, my gaze snagged on a beautiful blonde that was idly braiding her hair into Dutch braids two tables away.
She was doing it so effortlessly that I couldn’t stop staring.
Her gaze moved up to catch mine, and I felt the breath leave my throat for a solid second.
Her eyes were a startling green.
Like an emerald, or that Coke bottle green color that I saw on the Dos Equis beer bottles that Dima, my brother, liked to drink.
I was so focused on her that I didn’t hear my name be called for my coffee.
The impatient barista called my name a second time, I assumed, and I had to force my gaze away from the blonde.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the coffee that I didn’t tip for.
I probably should have, but I didn’t like the barista.
She was a bitch to everyone, and I couldn’t stand her.
Whenever she was working, I made sure not to tip.
She didn’t bother replying, and instead turned to the next drink order.
I took a drink of the coffee and was unsurprised to find it lukewarm.
Normally I would’ve said something—there were times that I felt like she purposefully served me shitty coffee because I didn’t tip—but the door burst open and a group of men poured in through the door.
All of them were wearing a white shirt that said ‘Sweat Construction’ on it.
All of them were covered in dirt and concrete, and of course, they headed for the blonde at the table.
“What the fuck happened, Brecken?”
“Shh,” Brecken, the blonde, whispered. “Be quiet, y’all. Don’t create a scene.”
I took another sip of my coffee and decided that I would be saying something about my coffee.
I’d also be taking a seat so I could hear “what the fuck happened.”
I turned to the barista at the counter and said, “This is cold, ma’am.”
I made sure to be extra nice despite her lack of professionalism.
The barista shot me a look that said she clearly didn’t care.
I narrowed my eyes and said, “I’d like some hot coffee, please.”
“Sorry, no refunds.” She smiled sweetly.
It showed off the metal stud that she had between her front teeth.
“One more chance.” I held it out to her.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Maybe you should go get me your manager,” I suggested.
“Sorry, she’s not here,” she lied.
I knew, in fact, that her manager was here.
I took the lid off and poured it onto her counter, watching as her mouth fell open.
“I overpaid for this coffee as it is,” I pointed out, not bothering to inform her that she’d overcharged me on purpose. My guess, to line her pockets, seeing as she was so bad I never tipped her. “Now, you can either get me a new one, clean that up, and not complain, or you can go find another job.”