Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Not that I’d ever use him like that.
He was a good guy with a shithead for a kid. It wasn’t his fault that his son was a dumbass.
A dumbass who was now in a wheelchair for the rest of his life because of that accident.
The accident had not only ended my military career, but it also put me in the hospital for three months, and it had forced me to reevaluate my situation.
Him? He’d ruined his basketball scholarship to UT, one that promised a one-way ticket straight to the NBA. He’d lost the love and support that he’d once had, and he was now living half a life in an in-patient facility that catered to people with quadriplegia because that accident had shattered his spine.
Though, his father still loved him, which was what a good father would do.
My brothers may not want me to pay off their shit, but if that prick, Harold, was going to threaten them to get to me, they better fucking believe that I would pay it off before he could use them in that way.
Not to mention he was one of my least favorite people in the world.
I fucking hated repossessing cars for his punk ass.
Which reminded me of Lark.
Fuck, I couldn’t get her out of my head.
It’d been three weeks since I’d repossessed her car and three weeks since I’d seen her tears.
Honestly, there was nothing special about her. Why the fuck couldn’t I get her off my mind?
It’s because of her big, beautiful gray eyes. Those tears had made her eyes look like a rainstorm, and you fucking love rainstorms.
Goddammit.
“Honestly, Mr. Hail, I don’t see why you can’t follow the rules. The woman, Lark, that lives down the road? She was nice about it. She took the fine, removed the flowers, and promised to have new ones in their place by sundown. That’s how this HOA goes. Everyone is happy, I’m happy.”
You’re a dick.
“I’m not removing them,” I told him. “Have a good day, Harry.”
Harold narrowed his eyes.
He hated being called Harry.
Which was why I did it.
Harold walked away without another word, and I watched him march down to the street, climb into his golf cart, and drive to the next house.
I could see him as he checked the exterior paint on their house.
I rolled my eyes.
Poor fuckers would likely have to spend around ten grand in paint to have it repainted because he saw one goddamn chip in it.
Fucker.
And this Lark chick? Well, she was stupid, too.
You bowed to guys like this, and they’d do whatever was in their power to keep pushing because they knew you wouldn’t push back.
Me? I was the one who did the pushing in my life, and I always would be.
Why? Because I hated a fucking bully, and Harold could be pictured next to the word, bully, in the dictionary.
I waited until the fat fucker disappeared in his golf cart around the corner before I walked back into my house.
I came back out moments later mostly dressed. Now I had on a grand total of boxer briefs, sweatpants, my nine-millimeter strapped to my ankle, ankle socks, and tennis shoes.
The pants I was wearing rode low on my hips, and I stopped five steps onto the street to tie them tighter.
Waving at my elderly neighbor as she took her trash out—good thing Harold was gone, because the little twit would’ve fined her for putting it out before nine p.m. the day before it was to be picked up—I took a deep, relaxing breath and gritted my teeth for that first bite of pain that always hit me.
The moment my knee flexed and a flash of pain tore through me, I shoved it to the back of my mind and looked forward.
I started my run like I always did, turning left out of my driveway and running to the highway before turning around at the stop sign and going back the opposite way.
I was on the first of three streets I’d pass through when I saw her up ahead wearing a pair of cut-off, blue jean shorts, a t-shirt that looked like she’d slashed it partially to pieces, a beat-up pair of tennis shoes and a baseball cap.
My eyes narrowed.
That looked like my baseball cap.
However, I’d lost it during a storm a few weeks ago on a run, and I hadn’t been able to stop long enough to look for it.
But it had been on this street that I’d lost it.
I looked at my watch, realizing I’d been running for about forty-five minutes, and decided that I could stop for a few minutes and confront the hat thief.
The closer I got to her, the more I realized that I knew that body.
Her bottom half was thick, round, and luscious. Her top half was more on the skinny side. Her breasts were there, but not nearly as luscious as one would expect when you compared her ass to her tits. Her waist was tiny, which just made her ass look even bigger than it actually was.