Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Instead of arguing, he simply dips his head as if he's agreeing to something a little more basic than another sexual encounter with me.
"I have to clean up some before I leave. You can hang out here or you can wait for me outside."
His eyes dart to the top of the bar where my hand is resting, and I can see the way his mind is working.
"Nope," I tell him before the thought can even take root. "I'm not letting you fuck me on the bar."
"Are you fucking him?"
I tilt my head to the side in sheer confusion. "Fucking who? Jersey?"
It's the only name that comes to mind because his eyes are locked in the direction the man was sitting not long ago.
His eyes slowly take their way back to mine, and I feel like a deer caught in a set of headlights.
"Tommy Wilkinson," he snaps. I should probably be alarmed that he knows the man's name, but, honestly, the licensing for the bar is hanging on the wall, and Owen is nothing if not observant.
"Tommy is my—no I'm not in a relationship, sexual or otherwise with Tommy."
"And that fucker?" he snaps, leaning in a little closer and angling his head to Jersey's stool.
"Not that it's any of your business, but no. I'm not sleeping with anyone at the moment, and if you keep up this bad attitude, I won't be sleeping with you either."
I turn away to get started on my closing work before I have to watch the look on his face that says he could take me or leave me.
He doesn't climb off the bar stool, nor does he pull his eyes off of me the entire time I'm finishing up getting the bar ready for Edith's shift in the morning. Needing to fill the time until eleven when Tommy said I could close it down, I cut limes and lemons for Edith.
I look up at him every chance I get, and I don't see what Jersey sees when he looks at the man.
Jersey told me before that Owen looks soulless, as if he could kill puppies and not feel bad about it or even have a moment's hesitation before ending their lives.
That's not what I see at all.
I see a man who has been let down at every turn in his life, and all he really needs is to find people in his life that he can trust not to do it again.
Owen Clark may be my biggest mistake yet, but it doesn't stop me from feeling a little disappointed when he stands from his stool and leaves the bar without another word.
His bike isn't in the parking lot when I lock up, and maybe it's for the best. Maybe I'm the one dodging a bullet here.
Disappointment fills me every second of the drive back to my tiny, rented house.
Chapter 13
Hemlock
I wagered she'd be pissed that I just got up and left without a word. I wanted her to be feral and angry, but her face lights up the second she pulls into her driveway and sees me sitting on my bike as if I've been waiting for her for hours.
That smile, the real one that I haven't seen her share with many other people, does something to me. I feel lighter, like my burdens are being carried by someone else, and I know just how fucking dangerous that can be.
If someone warned me a month ago not to get too close, that the woman in the bar is nothing more than a mark, a means to get information, I would've scoffed in their face. Getting close to anyone has never been a problem for me. I don't form bonds and connections with others the way normal people do. Other than Hound, I wouldn't even consider anyone else walking this earth to be a friend. Connections aren't my thing, but I can't deny the way my body responds to this woman.
Her smile shouldn't affect me in any sort of way, but I find myself fighting my face's instinct to mirror the grin. I curl my lip instead, needing to maintain some sort of control over this situation.
I have to question what the hell is wrong with her to smile when she sees me. She should be running for the hills rather than climbing out of her car and approaching me as if I'm some tame animal who will lick her hand rather than bite it when it's offered to me.
I've read the file on her that Ace provided more times than I can count, and other than having a piece of shit drug-dealing, cheating husband, she's had a pretty uneventful life. Her financial records indicate she didn't go out much before her divorce. There were no receipts for drink purchases at bars. Hell, further research showed they didn't even sell alcohol in the small town in Kentucky that she lived in. She should be cautious of me, not so willing to jump in feet first with a dangerous stranger after living such a subdued life.