Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Lenny, this is Ray,” Yuli says, making the introductions.
“It’s great to meet you,” I tell her. Needing to say something more to sound interesting, I add, “I used to be in real estate, and I never knew about this place.”
Fail.
“We like to keep things pretty private around here,” she says. “Welcome to Logan’s Beach’s first medical marijuana field. We are celebrating the first contract for Clearwater Cannabis.”
A business opening party? I’ve been to those before. This isn’t really so different if you don’t consider the location, bikers, half-naked women, and the marijuana field center piece.
Ray gives Yuli with a warm hug. “I’m so glad that you could make it. Come on, let’s get you two a drink.”
“How do you two know each other?” I ask as Ray leads the way over to a wooden deck area next to a small building I assume houses the field offices. Ray playfully shoves a biker who’s sitting on top of a big cooler. He stands and steps to the side.
Ray digs around in the ice and emerges with three beers, handing one to each of us.
“Yuli was the nurse in the ER the night my daughter, Nicole Grace, swallowed a refrigerator magnet,” Ray says, looking sad for a moment before glancing gratefully over at Yuli. “She saved her life.”
“Well, one thing is for sure. I’ll never look at Hello Kitty the same way ever again,” Yuli responds with a laugh.
“That’s right. It was a Hello Kitty…” Ray and Yuli continue their conversation as I turn and look around the yard. The music and people are infectious. If Jared knew I was here, he’d…it doesn’t matter. He chose to leave. Me. Us. This town. What he’d think or feel is irrelevant because the bastard isn’t here.
I notice a lot of men staring in my direction, and I can’t help but feel flattered, if not slightly to majorly uncomfortable. I turn back around to Yuli and Ray, and my heel gets caught in the grass. Thankfully, Yuli breaks my fall.
“What size shoe do you wear?” Ray asks, pointing at my feet.
“A seven. They fit just fine, but they aren’t exactly all-terrain.”
Ray chuckles. “On the other side of this building is an RV. I changed in there earlier, and I know I have a few pairs of flip flops stored inside. Check the blue tote bag in the cabinet under the stove. I’m sure you’ll find what you need in there. There’s no reason to be uncomfortable all night.”
“Oh my god, you’re like my shoe guardian angel,” I say. “Thank you!”
I raise my beer over my shoulder to salute her because I’m already halfway around the building to the RV. It’s one of those older, tour bus models. The kind that Beyoncé wouldn’t be caught dead in, but the perfect fit for say a recently reunited boy band’s grand tour of Northern Iowa.
I push through the crowd of people and enter the darkened RV that feels like another world compared to the party raging outside. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet. I hurry to find the better shoe options so I can get back outside to the blissful mind-numbing noise.
I can’t find the light switch, and only the dim light from the moon is shining through the small window. I kick off my shoes and hold them in one hand while I navigate through the small kitchen. I locate the stove and crouch down. I find the bag and unzip it. Sure enough, there are a few pairs of flip flops inside. I grab a pair of comfortable-looking black ones and shove my feet into them.
An eerie feeling like before hisses down my neck like dozens of tiny snakes sinking their needle-like fangs into my skin as they go.
That’s my cue to leave.
I turn and race back to the door, but I collide head-on with a massive wall of a road block. My hands shoot out to brace myself, and I immediately notice that the wall is warm. And hard. And muscular. And smells like cigarette smoke and light masculine cologne.
Probably, because it’s not a wall. It’s a him.
“Do you make stealing from people a habit?” a deep raspy voice filled with warning asks.
I raise my eyes, and dread pools in my stomach. Immediately, I recognize the owner of the hard, good-smelling wall-chest. The man from the alley.
Nine.
His eyes are dark and serious. Heated just like his skin…oh, shit. His skin. I can still feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt because I’m still touching him.
I take a step back, but he grabs my arms and holds me firmly in place.
“What are you doing here?” I ask breathlessly.
“What am I doing here? You’re on my side of the causeway. In my RV. The question is, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I suppose you’re going to be yet another person who tells me that I don’t belong here? Fine. Let me go, and I’ll leave.”