Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I cleared my throat and buckled my seat belt.
“You been together long?” he asked.
Uh. I scratched my chin. “’Bout four months, I guess. Or five, if you count the month before we were broken up for like a week.”
Nikki was…awesome in one way and less so in another. Woman had a temper, and I was pretty mellow. Too mellow, in her opinion. She thought I didn’t give a fuck because I didn’t get heated like her.
When we’d met, she’d flirted her sweet ass off, calling me everything from a bad boy to someone who had to be a “quarterback or something.” Which I’d heard before. I got it. I had the looks of someone who could be an arrogant asshole. I’d attracted the popular girls all my life, but they grew bored with me fast.
I had no doubt Nikki would do that too. Sooner or later.
“I had an on-and-off thing with my high-school girlfriend. Both addictive and destructive.”
Roe wasn’t completely wrong. Addictive was a strong word, but there was certainly never a dull moment around Nikki. In the time we’d been dating, I’d been to more nightclubs than I cared to remember. She was always…on.
“I’m along for the ride till she finds someone more exciting,” I said. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” I grabbed the handle above me as he swerved between cars to make our turn for the on-ramp to the 405. “Maybe you could find a cute driving instructor.”
“You sound like my brothers and sister,” he chuckled. “Dating will have to wait. I can’t afford distractions right now.”
I knew the feeling. At the same time, I’d rather stay with Nikki than in the two-bedroom I’d crashed at before. With six other dudes who were hoping to make it big in Los Angeles. I could not get out of that rat-infested testosterone soup fast enough.
“Have you been in town long?” I wondered.
“What—I don’t sound like a local?”
I grinned.
He shook his head in amusement. “Almost a year. Had a sweet little studio when I came out here too—rented from a friend who got a job in Tokyo. But when I ran out of money, I helped him find a more reliable tenant. You?”
I released the handlebar again. Weirdly, he drove more carefully on the highway.
“About the same,” I replied. “It’s been eight months of being five minutes away from buying a ticket back to Norfolk.”
He snorted. “Tell me about it. Then I think about what’s waiting for me back home, and I’m like, I don’t fucking think so. Half my family’s in the Middle East, another part is poppin’ out kids, and the last bunch is just tryna make ends meet.”
I nodded slowly and removed my ball cap, tossing it onto the dash in front of me.
Many of us had loved ones in the Middle East.
I had a couple cousins there myself, and I’d recently spent six years going back and forth, reupping as soon as I’d been allowed. We had an entire generation feeding on hatred and vengeance.
That was why I’d started picking up my camera on my days off. To document the reality of war, of what we’d gone through, of what we saw over there on a daily basis, and what that did to us. Because eventually, we rotated back home—if we were lucky—and our family members weren’t prepared.
“You’re former military, aren’t you?” Roe asked. “You learn the signs after a while. How you stand and walk a little differently. Always alert…”
I nodded with a dip of my chin. “I was in the Marines.”
“Figures,” he sighed. “I have a brother and four cousins in that branch. Thankfully, they’re getting out soon. Our family’s lost enough.”
Ah. Yeah, that had definitely been a surefire way to recruit troops—and the way he’d phrased that, plus with his being from New York, it was all too easy to assume they’d lost someone when the towers came down. Maybe more than one.
“I actually wanted to enlist too, but everyone blew up on me,” he chuckled. “Before I knew it, I was getting calls from my cousins in Afghanistan. ‘Whaddaya fuckin’ nuts? You gonna get yourself killed ova’ hea’!’” He shook his head, and I couldn’t help but share his smile. Those protective family members were nice to have. “I’m the baby in the family,” he explained. “I couldn’t catch a damn break before 9/11 either. But everything obviously got worse after…”
I watched his expression grow more somber. Maybe he got lost in a memory. I’d learned he was twenty-four now, so he’d just been a kid when the towers came down almost a decade ago.
I phrased myself as carefully as I could. “Can I ask who you lost?”
“My parents and an uncle.” He nodded once. Jesus. Both his mom and dad. “Ma worked at a bank, and my pop and uncle were firefighters. I’d like to think Pop found her—that they died together.”