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)
I found myself laughing for the first time that night, which drew everyone’s attention to me, my parents and Rosie included.
“I think I’ll take you up on the offer of sharing your new town. Tell me, do they have a police department?”
Turns out, they did.
Chapter 1
WWJD? What Would Johnny Do?
-Probably not the correct words for those letters but fuck it.
June
“Just put down some random number. Employers don’t ever call references,” my best friend, Amanda, ordered.
I looked over at her.
“I really need this job,” I told her. “I need to pay rent, and I can’t pay rent if I don’t have a job. I—”
“Would you shut up already?” Amanda took a puff of her cigarette. “Seriously, you’re driving me insane. I already have it paid for this month. We’re good.”
I didn’t agree. Amanda had paid the rent in full the last two months. I hadn’t had a choice since losing my job.
I was a twenty-six-year-old fuck up, and my life wasn’t showing any signs of getting better.
I not only couldn’t use my degree—because I couldn’t find a job in the field I’d chosen—but I also couldn’t find a job—period.
The ones I did find didn’t pay anywhere near enough for me to pay my school loans off…and it was just snowballing from there. It fucking sucked.
“Did you get any calls back yet about the applications you sent in?”
I shook my head. “Negative.”
To get a job in the field that I wanted—criminal justice—I had to have a clean record…and I most certainly didn’t have that.
I was not squeaky clean and hadn’t been since I was a young kid too hungry to care about laws.
That fact hadn’t even entered into my brain until I applied for a job as a crime scene tech at the Hostel Police Department.
I’d failed the interview process spectacularly because I hadn’t lied about my past—which, I would admit, wasn’t good. It was somewhat really bad.
But, that was then, and this is now.
Unfortunately, after reading up about other jobs, I realized that most likely I wouldn’t ever get a job doing what I wanted because my background was important. Which, I suppose, it should be.
I wouldn’t want a criminal working on a case involving a murdered family member, either.
But I wouldn’t necessarily count myself as a criminal when all of the things that I’d been charged with had happened under the age of seventeen.
And now, here I was, unable to get a job.
Why, you ask?
Because I was overqualified for minimum wage jobs that I could get, and I was underqualified for the rest.
I was freaking out.
“Just put some random name,” she suggested.
“Like John Smith?”
“Most of the time they don’t require last names. Just put ‘John’ and a number. But make sure that it has this area code, otherwise it’ll look suspicious,” Amanda replied helpfully.
I bit my lip, then did the only thing I could do. I lied on the application indicating that I was qualified to do a job that I wasn’t, and then I wrote down a random number as a reference.
“Here goes nothin’,” I said as I clicked submit.
Chapter 2
I want to practice making babies with you.
-things not to say to a police officer
June
The dick pulled me over.
What. The. Fuck?
I might’ve been speeding, but not bad enough to deserve getting pulled over—at least I didn’t think so.
Apparently, Officer Douche didn’t feel the same way.
I sighed and started looking for my insurance, wondering whether I’d stowed it in the glove compartment or the middle console.
Really, it was a mystery. I would be lucky to even find it. Especially with all the crap that only multiplied every single time I opened them.
I was halfway bending over my seat, searching for my purse in the backseat, when I heard a throat being cleared from behind me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I have such a mess in here.”
“Ma’am…”
I continued to sift through the stack of wadded up papers that were now in my hands.
“Ma’am,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.
I looked up at his sharp tone.
And my breath left me.
Oh, holy God.
The cop was hot.
So. Freakin’. Hot.
Holy shit.
“Yes?” I squeaked.
“I can look your insurance up. Just hand me your license.” He held out his hand.
I reached for my purse again and then laid it on my lap before starting to dig through it.
I found my wallet at the very bottom—which was how it always went when you were in a hurry to find something.
“Here.” I held out the license.
“This is expired.”
I nearly groaned.
It was.
By three days.
“I…it’s only expired by like three days. I forgot to renew it, and with the holidays last month, I never got the chance to get it updated,” I blurted.
He grunted. Then turned around and walked away without saying another word, leaving me the time I needed to admire the view.
He was tall, about six three or four based on his head height in comparison to my SUV.