Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
But still we had to split these cookies…
“Here,” he said as he held his hand out.
I took it and swung my leg off, holding onto his hand until I was steady on my feet before he said, “If I stop for beer, can you get some pizza or something for us? I’m starving and haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”
I felt giddiness once again take root inside me.
“Of course.” I hesitated. “Do you want to come over to my place?”
Not that I was embarrassed of my place, per se, but I wasn’t totally comfortable inviting people over because my place barely qualified as a home.
I barely spent time there, so what was the point of having anything but a bed and some dishes? I didn’t even have décor. The most decorating I’d done was leaving my clothes in various piles around the apartment.
“Come over to mine,” he suggested, not realizing just how relieved I was that he’d invited me over. “Do you know where I’m at?”
“I know you’re close to where Eedie lives,” I admitted. “But I don’t know exactly where.”
I chose to say where Eedie lived instead of where my dad lived.
It was better not to bring attention to the fact that my dad lived with his ex-wife and daughter.
I didn’t want him to get mad at me about my parentage all over again.
He nodded, then said, “I’ll send you my address. You can head to get the pizza.”
We parted ways, and as soon as I got in my car and started it up to head in the direction of the pizza place, I called my sister.
“Hey,” she said. “Are you showering already?”
I licked my lips. “Actually, no. So…”
My day slipped out.
Every single detail of my day, from start to finish, ending with, “What do I do?”
“Go to the pizza place next to your apartment,” she said. “Grab a change of clothes while you wait for the pizza to get done. Then go to Webber’s place once he sends you the address and spend the evening with him.”
“But what do I do when I get there?” I asked. “I’m absolutely disgusting. I’m covered in grease and sweat. Do I just say hey, I’m going to shower really quick? Do I ask first? What do I do?” I paused. “Maybe I should just shower at home.”
“No, don’t shower at home,” Aella rushed out. “Just grab a change of clothes and head to his place when he sends you the address.”
So that was what I did.
I headed to my place and gathered my clothes before ordering a pizza from the pizza parlor just around the corner and waited for him to send me his address.
And waited.
And waited some more.
By the time an hour had passed, I was well and truly heartbroken.
And more than a little bit disgusted in myself.
What had I been expecting? Happily ever after?
That kind of thing didn’t happen to women like me.
Thirteen
I hate getting mad. It takes me like two and a half years to calm down.
—Silver to Webber
WEBBER
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, fully intending to send her the location of my place, but dropped my new phone when the huge bay door that I’d been closing after letting Silver and her car out was ripped out of my hands.
At first I thought it was the wind, but when the door swung all the way open again, I was staring at Officer Moran and four other federal agents that had FBI in yellow letters across the Kevlar vests that they were wearing.
Fuck.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Piers Webb, you’re under arrest,” the man in front, an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, said.
My brows rose. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Moran snorted. “Got you.”
“May I ask what I’m being arrested for?” I asked, knowing that they had nothing on me.
“No, you may not,” the second FBI agent said. “Now, turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Knowing that resisting arrest, even if I wanted to, would only give them ammunition, I chose to comply and turned my back around to them.
“You armed?” third FBI guy asked.
“I’m always armed.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “This is Texas.”
I had a legal and constitutional right to carry, especially since I lived in Texas.
I was not a felon—at least that they knew of—and had every legal right on my side.
Yet, the way that they threw me down on the ground upon hearing that meant they thought differently.
Still I didn’t fight, even though I could’ve had all of these fuckers on the ground and out cold if I wanted.
“How do I know you’re actually an FBI agent?” I asked. “I’m cooperating, and you’re mistreating me greatly. I hope you know that I have every single inch of this place wired.”
“Sure,” the salt and pepper-haired douche said. “But cameras sometimes mess up.”
I rolled my eyes, catching his badge that had Special Agent Moran stamped on it. “Not mine.”