Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Apparently, the answer is we can’t, so instead, we live with the loneliness the night brings, knowing when we wake up… not a damn thing will be different.
I dare say it’s all Memphis’s fault.
Chapter Eight
Davis
Monday comes and goes, as does Tuesday, without a word from Crew, and while I didn’t expect him to drop everything for mission “deflower Davis,” some part of me must’ve assumed he would’ve reached out by now. Why else would I be pouting into a bowl of moose tracks ice cream?
Call me eager or impatient, or maybe just needy, but I’m going to need him to agree to some kind of schedule. Then I can bust out an Excel sheet, add in everything there is to add, and come up with a reasonable deadline.
He knows I like order, so maybe he’s doing this to mess with me?
Or maybe he just has a life, Davis.
Ugh.
I annoy myself.
School and work might rule my existence for the most part, but that’s cake compared to running a bar. I bet he’s in there long before they open, getting things ready, and even longer after dealing with the chaos of the night. Not to mention making the schedule, keeping tabs on his employees, inventory, restocking, and who the heck knows what else. Not me, but I see some of the stuff my manager does and it’s a lot.
Plus, he has to find time to sleep somewhere. He basically works swing and graveyard shifts.
It’s whatever, and it’s those two words I play on repeat in my mind. It works until Wednesday rolls around and all my classes are done. That’s when I throw the whole “whatever” thing out the window, but rather than blow up his phone and wait for a response, I decide to not so casually be in the neighborhood. His neighborhood, that is, and with a giant plateful of homemade peanut butter cookies that may or may not be his favorite.
Like my apartment complex, parking here is atrocious, and the closest thing to his building is not close at all, so I sneak my mini-Mitsubishi into one of the assigned carports, since I don’t plan to be here long. I figure popping in and dropping off a treat is a great way to remind him I exist and he made a deal. You know, in the off chance he forgot.
Like I said…needy.
His apartment is upstairs, so I use the forced moment of exercise to squat with each step up. Three-quarters of the way, I grab the railing for support, since my legs are quickly jiggling like Jell-O. There’s an ugly upside-down beaver-looking statue beside his door, the tail sticking out to the side and holding an aloe vera plant that could use some water, so I make a mental note to mention so and knock on the door.
And then I knock again.
Why I continue to knock after several minutes of waiting, I don’t know, but it’s not to no avail, as after the third and maybe a half, a groggy voice groans from the other side.
I perk up, holding the bag in front of me with a smile.
The door is yanked from the frame, but I’m not met with the deep dark eyes of a miraculous male, but instead a short, skinny, green-haired girl I most definitely woke up. If the wild-child hair and smeared makeup didn’t clue me in, the see-through crop top that wouldn’t stretch past my shoulders and a teeny, tiny strip of cloth covering her vag would have done it. Maybe.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here or are you just going to stare at my underwear? Because if it’s the second one, I could turn around and show you the back. There’s a little jewel that hangs just between the cheeks.”
Only then do I remember where I am, and that a woman—an extremely attractive, even in a state of disarray woman—answered Crew’s door. Without pants.
And underwear equipped with jewelry, apparently.
I didn’t even know such a thing existed.
“Okay, backside it is then.” She begins to spin, and I snap out of it.
“No!” I shout as quickly as I can, and she pauses, her annoyed stare meeting mine once more. “I’m sorry. I came by to say hi to Crew.” Lame, Davis. “But I’ll give him a call later.”
My words indicate I’m out of here, yet my feet don’t move, and she cocks her head, looking me over.
“You’re looking for Crew?” She eyes me.
I nod, attempting to secretly slide the bagful of cookies behind my back, but she sees it, a judgy, slightly strained gleam slipping into her eyes. One leading me to believe she’s thinking something along the lines of “poor, pathetic, plain girl.”
Maybe I’m the one thinking that?
“When’s the last time you saw Crew?” she questions.
I’m tempted to lie. What if he doesn’t want her to know where he was this weekend? Maybe she doesn’t know he’s been anywhere?