Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
“Really?” she says. “Why?”
I shrug. “Why not? I was going to head out for lunch anyway.”
“Uh, okay. Thanks. You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
I flash her a smile. “Not in the way you think.”
That smile is winning the fight over those kissable lips of hers. Hell, I can acknowledge that much, at least. She’s got lips I can very easily imagine myself kissing.
“What does that mean, huh?” she says, talking to Loki as she strokes him.
“Marine. Dog handler. A few tours.”
She looks up. “Are you bragging?”
“Listing my credentials, ma’am.”
We’re both half-smiling, and I can’t tell if this is tension or something else. I shouldn’t even want to tell. After last time, I shouldn’t keep thinking about all that crap. Then again, I’m not sure what sort of psycho I’d have to be not to think about it from time to time.
“That’s cool, really,” she says. “Also, well, I hate to say this. I love Loki’s visits, but isn’t it far for him?”
I shrug. “He finds his way, but you’re right. I know how he’s been doing it now, anyway.”
“How?”
“I thought you were in a rush.”
She looks at the floor and then seems to summon her courage. There’s this daring glint in her eyes as they meet mine. If I were a different man, I might let myself admire that glint, even obsess over it. I might go insane over it. I might lose my mind and start thinking a bunch of unrealistic things.
“And I thought you were giving me a ride.”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing if I wanted to. Opening the gate, I tell Loki, “Stay, boy.”
He whines but sits his butt down and watches as I walk Maya out toward the exit.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says.
“I do,” I reply as we walk across the lot.
I wonder how she’d react if I told her I was watching her last night or if I told her where I went after, what I did, and who I did it for. I don’t have to think about any of that nasty crap as I open the passenger-side door of my old GT.
“Nice wheels.”
“Most people tell me it’s time I got an upgrade.”
Maya shakes her head. “I’m just happy for the ride. Thank you.”
When she climbs in, she brushes by me. It’s not crazily close, but enough for me to get a whiff of perfume, or maybe it’s just her shampoo or just her—just her smell. Suddenly, I want to press my face against her neck, kiss, taste her.
I quickly close the door. My manhood tingling from that tiny interaction. That’s not good. I don’t want to get a hard-on in front of her. Trying to get my head in gear, I climb inside the driver’s seat.
“Type in the address,” I say, nodding to the center console. My car may be old but I’ve given it some modern features.
She quickly does as told, then sits back with her hands folded. I get the sense she thinks I’m going to pounce on her. Or maybe that’s just me projecting what I want to do, this deep hunger in me. It’s a primal thing like killing. It’s something I can ignore.
Okay, so I find this woman damn fine. She’s attractive as hell. She’s sassy and hot, and it’ll stay that way—a few observations in my mind. There’s no use pushing it too far.
“How long is your shift today?” I ask, thinking of the sick person back home. Her mom? Her sister?
“Just nine hours,” she replies.
“Just,” I mutter, almost laughing, but I don’t want to offend her. I think about not offending her far more than I ever have with any other person.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
I nod. “But you’re looking for a new start?”
“No, another job.”
My hands automatically tighten on the steering wheel. Otherwise, I don’t give anything else away, or so I hope. I don’t like the idea of Maya working two jobs. It’s none of my business, but I still don’t like it.
“With flexible hours, ideally,” she sighs, reaching into her pocket.
“What’s that?” I say, glancing at the big red letters at the top. “Rafeal’s Red Room.” My stomach twists. Raffie. His strip joint. What business does a woman like Maya—a good person, beautiful, innocent—have being at a place like that? The idea of other men ogling her curves, dammit, it’s making me wild.
“The guy at this call center place gave it to me. He thinks I could be a model. Ha, ha. It’s clearly a strip joint.”
“Throw it in the trash, then.”
I’m on the edge of doing it for her. As I follow the directions on the screen, I almost snatch the flyer out of her hand and toss it right in the trash. Is she trying to make me nuts? But that doesn’t make any damn sense. She’s not trying to make me anything, no more than I should be trying to make her anything.