Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“There may not be many of us, but we’re prepared to show hospitality,” Cord said, breaking in. “The old ladies had some contingency plans, just in case this didn’t end up in hellfire and death.”
Pic laughed.
“Might want to call them, then,” he said. “Let ’em know you’re still alive.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MONDAY AFTERNOON
TINKER
I’d heard Cooper—no, Gage—pull up to the house around three in the morning. Several bikes, actually, and a whole group of men who clomped up the stairs to his place. Not that they went out of their way to be noisy, but leather boots make a lot of noise in an old building.
When I’d left that morning, I managed not to ram my Mustang into his bike on the way to work—mostly because I love my Mustang and didn’t want to scratch her up. When I took Dad to see the doctor Seattle and with my attorney, I’d need to look into evicting his ass, I decided. Carrie had been right about that. It was one thing to give him the benefit of the doubt when all I had was gossip. Once a man tells you himself that he’s been lying all along, it’s a lot harder to feel guilty about tossing him out.
Now it was four in the afternoon, and I’d finished work early so I could pick up the food for dinner with Carrie and Darren. Make that Carrie, Darren, and Joel, because apparently Carrie had texted him earlier that day, inviting him to come along just for fun. I think her logic went something like this:
Gage was bad.
Joel wasn’t Gage.
Therefore, Joel must be good.
Pushy as hell, all things considered. I’d always hated that about Carrie. Hated it and loved it at the same time, because no matter how weird things might get, I knew I could count on her pushing me to do the right thing. Tonight, though . . . she’d played me to perfection. From the time I was a kid, we’d always had room for an extra chair around the table. My mother would cut off her own hand before turning down an extra guest, and Carrie knew damned well I’d nod and smile when Joel showed up rather than seem inhospitable.
Looked like I’d be having a date tonight whether I wanted it or not, and because life wasn’t quite annoying enough, I’d gotten the cart with the wobbly wheel. It also made a horrible squealing noise whenever you turned it, a noise that echoed off the ancient, cracked floor tiles in Gunther’s Good Groceries.
It’d needed a remodel back when I was in high school, a remodel it’d never gotten. No wonder people preferred shopping out of town. Unfortunately, I was in a pinch because Dad had taken the steaks I’d set out for dinner and given them to one of the Baxter kids for a game they were playing (don’t ask). Now I had company—including a “date” for me—coming over in less than an hour, I needed a shower, and perhaps worst of all, Gunther’s was out of decent wine.
Now I was running around the grocery store, trying to find some steaks that would work, something to drink, and some veggies that didn’t look like they’d sat on a truck for a week before delivery.
Not the easiest of tasks.
That’s probably why I wasn’t paying very close attention as I rounded the corner behind the freezer aisle, running my cart smack into Gage himself. Specifically, the corner of the cart caught him in the crotch, and he doubled over with an agonized groan, catching my arm to keep himself upright.
I’d love to say I didn’t enjoy the moment, but that would be a lie.
He deserved it. He deserved it so much.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” I said, smirking. His face had flushed dark red and he took a couple deep breaths, then slowly raised his head and met my eyes.
“Great to see you again, too, Tinker.”
A vein fluttered in his forehead, and I realized I really had hurt him. Badly. Good. Except now I felt sort of guilty. Probably my mom’s fault, I decided. She’d taught me to be a moral person. Bitch.
“Okay, I really am sorry,” I said, frowning. “I was in a hurry and I was going too fast.”
“Picked up on that,” he said, and what I think was supposed to be a smile twisted his face. More of a grimace really.
Ouch.
“Are you okay?”
He stared at me, then shook his head.
“No, feels like my balls are gonna explode, and not in the good way,” he said. “I’ll go out on a limb here and suggest you’re still pissed at me?”
“That would be a fair assessment,” I admitted.
There was a definite hint of humor in his face now—still mixed with pain—and I suddenly realized his hand was on my arm. Too close. I could smell his special scent, and that was never a good thing. First came the scent, then came the tinglies, followed quickly by me doing something stupid.