Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Still, there are nights when I crave more than solitude. Nights I lie awake aching for arms around me, for the weight and warmth of another body, for something wild and sweet and desperately needed. I hate that my body doesn’t understand the rules I’ve set.
The burger arrives, looking surprisingly edible. The fries are crisp and golden, and when I take a bite of the burger, it exceeds all expectations. My stomach hums in satisfaction as I devour it.
“That looks good.”
The voice comes from my right, deep and amused, and I glance up to find a man with an empty beer bottle standing beside me. He’s handsome in that roughneck, blue-collar way, with dark hair, dark eyes, a day’s stubble on his jaw, and a plaid shirt that hugs a broad chest. His hands are big, calloused, but clean.
“It’s good,” I admit, swallowing quickly. “Better than expected.”
“I’ve had one before. You’re safe.”
His gaze flicks to my blouse, lingering a moment too long. I shift slightly in my seat, the air between us cooling. He’s not subtle, but he is my type.
“You new in town?” he asks.
“Just passing through. Business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Furniture,” I say. My tone is clipped now, a little defensive. Something about his presence grates. Beware of strangers, my mom’s voice echoes in my head. She’s obsessed with warnings about danger. When I was a kid, it was about men who would come and take me away with sweet temptations or maybe cute puppies. When I was a teen, it turned to men who were going to come to steal my innocence. In recent years, there have been warnings about men who will hurt me. Mostly, I’ve brushed it off, much to her annoyance. She tells me that I won’t understand how hard it is until I’ve had a child of my own. I haven’t told her it’s never going to happen. There’s a niggle inside me, though, a niggle that makes me wonder if maybe she senses something bad in my future.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Buying or selling?” He gulps some of the beer the barman placed in front of him. He must have a tab because he isn’t asked to pay.
“Making. I’m here to buy raw materials.”
He laughs, a low chuckle that vibrates in his chest. “You don’t look like a carpenter.”
My hackles rise immediately. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“And what does a carpenter look like?”
The guy leans forward, his eyes leering and expression hungry. Call it intuition, but I don’t like him. I’ve met men like this before. Men who poke your sensitive places to get a response. Men who end up trying to destroy you in the end. “They’re usually bigger, with more facial hair than you.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” I take another bite of my burger to stop myself from saying more. I don’t need an altercation with this man in a strange bar in a strange town. I need to keep my wits about me.
I nod, still chewing. I wash it down with a long slug of beer, hoping he realizes from my food and my drink choices that I’m no salad-eating, mimosa-drinking wallflower. I wish I had the guts to tell him to leave me alone now. His presence is taking the edge off my delicious meal and leaving me with a sour taste in my mouth.
“I bet they can,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You, for example. You wear your clothes crisp and white, but I bet you’re nothing like that underneath.”
“What I am underneath is none of your business,” I say coolly. “And now I need to eat my burger. Enjoy your night.” I swivel a little on my stool so my back is directed toward him, hoping he’ll take the hint.
“Oh, it’s like that,” he says, laughing ominously. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”
I don’t reply and use my phone as a distraction while I chew a mouthful. Mom has sent me a message to ask me if I’m okay. Her Spidey sense is working in full force. I wonder what she’d say if she could see me now. She’d probably lock me in her basement and throw away the key. At least until my handsome prince comes knocking.
I type back, ‘All well. I checked in at the hotel. I’m having dinner.’ She sends me a smiley face emoji that makes me laugh. Until last month, Mom didn’t know what an emoji was. Now, she’s at the point of overusing them.
I don’t turn to check if the man has gone. I know he has. It’s strange how deeply I sense his absence, like the air around me shifted back into place. He never touched me, but there was an unsettling clash between his presence and my aura.
The burger and fries hit the spot, and the beer warms and relaxes me. The clench of anxiety he left behind eases. No one else bothers me while I eat, and by the time I’m done, the bar is busier and noisier.