Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“And I’ll be dining alone, correct?”
“Correct.”
An idea strikes me. It’s probably not a good one, but God knows he has enacted his bad ideas on me for the sake of his own pleasure. It’s my turn. “What if I want to bring a friend?”
“One of your roommates?”
“No.”
I deliberately don’t give him more than that.
“Harley Quinn?”
“No. No one you’ve encountered. A male friend.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend that.”
I think he’s a bit of a madman, and I would never actually endanger a male friend just to taunt Silvan, but he doesn’t know that. “Why not?” I ask innocently.
“Because unless his exclusive sexual preference is other men, he’d have a very unpleasant encounter with me following the shopping trip, and that would probably be awkward for you to explain. Unless, of course, you’re exceptionally comfortable speaking to corpses. Even so, the idea of you apologizing to another man… rubs me the wrong way. Let’s avoid it.”
“That’s an insane thing to text someone.”
“All in good fun,” he replies, but I don’t entirely believe him.
“You can’t be possessive of my apologies.”
“Oh, but I can. All your apologies belong to me. I think you owe me one right now for pretending you’d invite another man into my car to take you on as shopping spree I’m paying for.”
“I think you’re crazy if you think I owe YOU an apology for anything after the things you’ve done to me.”
“I’ll take it anyway. You repentant and on your knees. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”
“Okay,” I say, ready to cut off this interaction before it goes even more off the rails. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“Just take the car. Have a nice evening. I won’t be there. Like I said, I’m in New York. I’ll be in New York while you’re out and about. By the time I’m back in Boston, you’ll be in bed.”
“You SWEAR you’re in New York?”
A moment later, he sends a picture of himself holding up a Post-it Note he wrote the date on and a view of the Manhattan skyline out the window behind him.
“Cross my heart. Let me do a nice thing for you.”
An idea hits me as I look at the limo. “I was joking about the guy, but would I be able to bring someone?”
“Who?”
“My mom. When I was a kid, I won this limo ride from my school fundraiser, and I was going to take her for Mother’s Day, but I got sick the day of the limo ride, and we couldn’t go. I know it’s silly, but… I don’t know, it’d be kind of like a rain check.”
“It’s not silly at all,” he texts back. “Yes, of course you can bring your mom. Buy her something, too.”
A smile tugs at my lips, accompanied by a burst of excitement. I’m not as worried he’s tricking me if he’s fine with me bringing my mom, and this would be so much cooler than a thirty-minute limo ride around our old town. “Thank you,” I text back.
“You’re welcome, beautiful.”
My cheeks flush, and not from the nippy fall weather.
Since there are now three angry drivers slamming on their horns behind us, I drop my bag from my shoulder and quickly climb into the car.
My heart races when Hugh closes the door, and I know I’m trapped inside again. It could be another deception. A bigger one. He might have agreed to me taking my mom so easily because he knew I would never make it back to my dorm, let alone to her house to pick her up. I could be on my way to him right now.
But then I’d never be able to trust another thing he says.
Maybe he doesn’t care, but I think… I think he does.
The partition is down so I can see Hugh, and there’s no reason he can’t hear me. “We’re going to pick up my mom,” I say tentatively, watching carefully for some sign he’s not going to do what was promised.
“Very good. What’s her address?”
I give it to him, but I’m still on the edge of my seat as he gets back on the road and presumably starts toward my mom’s house.
When he takes a left I’m not expecting, my heart accelerates. “We’re going straight to her house, right?”
He meets my gaze briefly in the mirror before returning his eyes to the road. “Unless you’d like to stop at your place to drop off your schoolbooks, yes.”
I glance down at the bag leaning against the seat. “That’s okay. I’d just like to pick up my mom.”
He nods. “We’re heading there now,” he assures me. “I was just avoiding an accident on the route,” he adds, perhaps realizing my anxiety is because he took a wrong turn.
“Oh,” I say, relief washing over me as I sit back in the seat. “All right. I should probably text her to let her know we’re coming then, huh?”