Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
A couple of the guys from the other crew were also eating the food that I’d given to Meo without a word the moment I spotted him in the lot.
He’d given me a look of concern, but hadn’t tried to stop me from leaving.
Which was good, because I was still mad, and I didn’t want to take my bad mood out on him.
I marched across the parking lot and got into one of the trucks that would be taking us to the job site today. I shoved my lunch down between my legs and slipped my headphones back over my ears.
People piled in, but I didn’t pay them any mind, instead focusing on my audiobook.
Only when we pulled to a stop did I open my eyes.
My gaze went to the rearview mirror to find Meo’s on me.
He looked concerned, but again didn’t say anything as he got out and left me to my own thoughts.
Thoughtful.
He didn’t push.
I liked that he was giving me the space, even though it was clear he wanted to reach out.
I walked to the grappler and got inside, starting it up without a word.
I let it idle for a good twenty minutes before I started doing anything.
And when I did, I did it with aggression, pissed off and angry.
At one point, everyone took a break, and I kept going, seeing no point in stopping.
Usually, I was all about my breaks, but at this point, nothing was going to stop me.
At least, I thought nothing could stop me.
I’d worked right through the break and straight into lunch, fully intending to keep going until it was quitting time.
Not until one lone man started walking toward me with a look of determination.
He walked right up to my tracks and waited.
I was forced to stop or I’d have run him over.
I threw it into neutral and stared at him through my dirty windshield.
It was snowing, and the snow was collecting on the man’s hood and shoulders.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared.
Because it wasn’t just any man.
It was Meo.
Seven
She doesn’t want flowers. She wants a twelve-foot skeleton from Home Depot.
—Dru to Romeo
Romeo
The jerkiness of the grappler was downright terrifying. The trees were being swung around like they had something to prove. She was fast, methodical, and relentless. She’d gone straight through the morning, into her break, and all the way up to lunch.
However, she was going to take that break whether she wanted to or not.
One, because she needed to calm down before she accidentally killed one of my men—not that I thought she was out of control. But it was never safe to operate heavy equipment when you were angry as fuck.
Two, because I didn’t like seeing her angry.
I wasn’t sure why.
I barely knew the woman, but I just couldn’t handle seeing her that angry.
What I wanted to do when I saw her that morning was throw the food she’d handed me onto the ground and haul her into my arms and ask her what was wrong.
What I’d done instead was allowed her to retreat.
Maybe I shouldn’t have.
Because this type of anger wasn’t good.
I didn’t care how she got rid of that anger, but she’d get it done before we were done with lunch, that was for sure.
I hefted my lunch over my shoulder and continued right up to her, forcing her to stop.
She threw it into neutral, then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me.
It was downright the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
Have you ever seen a tiny thing try to be ferocious? It was like watching a lion cub learning how to roar.
Once I knew she was fully stopped, I climbed up onto her track and sat down where I was yesterday. The snow was cold, the dirt even colder, but I continued to sit as I waited for her to open her door.
She did, eventually, open it with a huff.
“I’m busy,” she snapped.
Again, cute.
“Yeah, but you gotta eat lunch,” I pointed out.
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m a grown-ass adult,” she grumbled.
I took a bite of my shitty gas station sandwich, and just when I was a few bites in, a soft thud hit my jacket.
I looked down to see a sandwich wrapped in brown paper sitting on the track next to my hip.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“A sandwich,” she grumbled. “Stop eating that shit. They put chemicals on it to make it last longer.”
“Tastes like it.” I threw it back into my lunchbox. “But I’m fairly awful at making food. Even sandwiches.”
She snorted. “No one is awful at making sandwiches.”
“They always turn out soggy,” I disagreed. “Every single time.”
“That’s because you’re putting your condiments or your tomatoes directly against the bread. If you want a non-soggy sandwich, you have to put that stuff with the cheese on first. Honestly, if you want tomatoes, I’d hold off until you’re just about to eat the sandwich before you add them.”