Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He blinked. “I thought all young kids had Facebook. I actually need someone who knows how to use it.”
I shrugged. “I’m not really all that young, to be honest. And, more so, I don’t really do Facebook. I have one, but I haven’t been on it in well over four years or so. Why?”
“I have a page for the Hostel Police Department. I was wondering if you’d take it over, and make sure that it’s not anything inappropriate.” He paused and looked at me.
“What kinds of things would you want me to put on there?” I questioned. “I guess I’ll need the password…or I think you can add me as an admin…shit. I haven’t been on Facebook in forever. Why me?”
He looked at me like I was dumb.
“Because you’re the newest employee…and the youngest. You got the short end of the shit stick. Sorry.”
With that, Tyler left, but he tossed a few more parting words over his shoulder. “I’ll add you…once I figure out how.”
By noon he’d figured out how, and I was now the brand-new administrator of the Hostel Police Department’s Facebook page. We had seventeen likes.
I rolled my eyes and took a cursory glance at the page, and then went farther to see who was crazy enough to like the page in the first place.
My eyes caught on a specific name, and I got distracted.
June Carter Common.
Age twenty-six. Graduated with a degree in criminal science. Lives in Hostel, Texas. Graduated from Hostel High School. Works at Coke Salvage.
My grin grew wide as I read that.
I’d intended to confront her on her lies, but the last two times I’d seen her, I’d either been at work, or out on a not-date with Reagan. Each time had been too busy for me to say a word, let alone have a conversation about how rude it was to put someone’s number down for a job without giving that person a heads up.
I could’ve totally been a different kind of man and let Coke Solomon know that she was a lying little shit…and honestly, she at least owed me an explanation.
And that opportunity for that explanation came a few hours later as I was sitting down for lunch in the Taco Shop.
It was quiet since lunch had been over long ago, so when the door opened moments after I arrived and ordered, my eyes went there automatically. Though, that also might have been due to the years of training I had to be aware of my surroundings at all times.
And damn, how fucking glad I was that I’d been paying attention, because seeing someone like June walking into the Taco Shop in jeans and a little white t-shirt? Yeah, I’d remember the way she looked for the rest of my life.
Her hair was long and ran down to the tiny brown belt that circled her waist. It was a curling mass of perfection that I wanted to sink my fingers into and see if it was as soft as it looked.
Her large hoop earrings peeked out from the long locks, and I found myself grinning.
She wasn’t wearing makeup. She was in cowboy boots—worn cowboy boots that looked like she actually rode a horse in them—and looked like the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen before.
Hell, Reagan had been dressed much nicer than that the night before, and don’t get me wrong, she was quite beautiful. But comparing her to June? It was like night and day to me.
Honestly, both women looked quite similar as far as size/body structure/feature wise. But where Reagan was quiet and cool, June was blunt and had a perpetually bad attitude.
How did I know that she had a bad attitude? I’d been asking around about her.
Everyone knew who she was, and very few of them had anything good to say about her. Whether it came to her father and mother, her lack of a job, or her refusal to go with the flow, I wasn’t really sure what made her hated by so many.
I hadn’t really wanted to pry, because I wanted her to tell me her problems on her own, and in her own time. Meaning that every time some person in town said something about her, I took it, absorbed it, and then dismissed it as false.
Sure, some of the things that they said she did could be true…but I didn’t believe that June was in cahoots with her parents—drug dealers with long rap sheets and many busts under their belts.
Her father was now donating his time to the federal penitentiary system in Huntsville, and her mother was holding down the proverbial fort.
I just couldn’t see June actually helping with that like they said she did.
She wasn’t the type of person.
I bit my lip and looked away, clearly torn between whether to approach her or act like I hadn’t noticed her.