Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Like Creighton. Like me.
I counted twelve that got on. They were Creighton’s. I knew without a doubt, and just before the doors were going to close, the man himself stepped onto the train.
Conversations ceased. Eyes went to him.
It’s just how he affected people, his own army and strangers. They knew he was someone, and I was remembering so many other times when I was on the bus or on a train and I’d be alone. Creighton would show up. He’d watch me as I would watch him. We’d share a smile because no one else mattered except the two of us. He only had eyes for me, and though I would try to fight against his pull, I would only have eyes for him too.
He’d sit beside me, sliding into my seat, and turn to me. The world would be boxed out. It was more effective on the bus, but it had the same effect today. He touched the pole beside my seat and indicated the spot beside me. An eyebrow quirked up.
I slid over, making room.
He pivoted around the pole and slid right in, all smooth.
I drawled, “Nice.”
He smirked. “I’ve had practice.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
And my heart fluttered.
I ordered it to stop and tried to scowl. “What are you doing here?”
He made a show of looking back and forth, leaning around, and looking again. “Wait. Is this not the subway? My bad. I must be using the bus. I didn’t intend to use the bus. I’ll have to get off at the next stop.”
“Stop.” I caught his hand, ignored how it jump-started my pulse. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Stop. The next stop.”
I groaned, trying to hold back a grin. “Creight. You’re being ridiculous.”
He chuckled, getting serious, and nudged his shoulder to mine. “Made you smile.”
I smoothed out that grin. “Barely.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”
“You’re being extra today.”
“Well, you know. We’re friends again.”
“We’re not.”
“You’re holding my hand.”
I looked down at it and let his hand go. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
He moved in closer, his head bending farther to me. “I’ve been crawling into you—”
“Fine. Shut up. Friends. We’re . . . friendly. We’re friendly.” I groaned. “I don’t think I’d classify us as friends. Family. Mortal enemies. Either would work better than friends.”
A genuine chuckle slipped free from him. “Where are you heading?”
I shook my head. “Why do you do that? Pretend you don’t know?”
“Because you like the option of giving me the answer. We can switch roles. You can ask me where I’m going.” He pretended to tsk me. “Always about you. Jeez, Blake. Why don’t you ask me how my day is going for a change?”
I bit down on my lip, trying to swallow the grin. “Fine. Where are you going today? You and your friends? Church? Going to volunteer at a soup kitchen?”
He pretended to scowl. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”
“You’re right. You’re more likely going to rob the soup kitchen.”
He barked out a laugh, and I knew that laugh would’ve gotten anyone’s attention that wasn’t already turned our way. It was commonplace growing up with Creighton Lane beside me. Stalking me. Prowling behind me. Leading the charge. Or doing what he was doing now, laughing with me and acting like the world didn’t exist outside of us.
I used to love days like this.
Until I remembered the bodies. My smile faded.
“I’d never rob a soup kitchen.” He saw the myriad of thoughts cross my face. “You’d never have that. A saint would tell you what I’d be up to. Before I’d even be able to leave with whatever little money they had, you’d be marching your way in and ordering me to put it back and then you’d make me write a check for triple what I tried to steal.” He lifted up an eyebrow. “That sound right?”
“It did except for the saint part. If I could talk to saints, I would’ve told my social worker to skip Miss Marcie’s house.” I couldn’t help myself, knowing that was meant to hurt him.
Did it? I watched him for any reaction.
He got quiet, and the small curve from his lip slowly lowered down. Those blank eyes stayed blank.
He murmured, “Point to Blake.”
That stung, a little, so I looked away. “I’m going to the foster center.”
“Mind if I walk you there?”
Some of the sting lifted. He sounded genuine, and I found myself nodding. “Sure.”
He slid down in the seat, getting comfortable, and reached for my hand. My chest lifted and held still. My heart flipped over, and for a moment, one moment, I blinked back tears because I wanted this with him. A train ride. Him to be a regular guy. I was just a girl, traveling with her boyfriend, and he was holding her hand because we got to indulge in this very normal public display of affection.