Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
He unties the bow easily with two hands, even though they’re large enough you wouldn’t expect him to be graceful. Some people have hands meant to play the piano; Griffin has hands meant to ball into fists and hit shit, which is exactly what he’s known for.
Holding one handle, he moves the tissue paper out of the way and reaches in, opening the box. He peers inside the bag for a split second, and then his eyes jerk up to mine. “Holy shit!”
“I know, right? It’s stunning,” I exclaim, the giddiness of earlier returning in a flash.
He looks in the bag again and lets out a low, almost sensual whistle. I know he’s admiring the diamond and not me, but it still feels like a compliment somehow, and I can’t help but dance and wiggle a bit.
One second, we’re standing there, the two of us on the sidewalk, Griffin smiling at my latest purchase, and me filled with excitement. The next, something happens . . .
A rush of red bumps my right shoulder, sending ice cream spilling everywhere—down my sweater, on the window beside me, to the ground at my feet, and splattering on my shoes. The movement creates wind that grabs my attention, and I jerk my head, trying to see what it is. What it was.
“Hey!” Griffin yells.
When I look back at him, he’s staring open-mouthed behind him. And his hands . . . they’re empty. The bag is gone.
Chapter 7
Griffin
“That did not just happen.” Penny’s voice is oddly flat. I’d expect a drama queen like her to be hysterical, so it must be shock.
Reality hasn’t hit her yet. It sure hasn’t hit me, because I can’t find a single word, or even a sound, to break the yawning void silently stretching out the moment.
I had the bag in my hand, felt the ropey handle against my palm, and then a jerk as the tiny weight disappeared and the handle broke loose. And then the guy was gone.
I think . . . I just got mugged.
Penny slaps my chest with her ice cream–covered palms, leaving a mess of chocolate handprints. “Go get him! I’ll call the police!”
Right. Right.
I’m an athlete, and a fucking monster, so I jump into action. I take off at a sprint, initially trying to dodge people on the sidewalk, but quickly giving up on any facade of manners and barreling straight through them if they don’t move at the sight of an oncoming freight train. There’s a wake of shouts behind me, but none of those people matter. Only one man does—the one in the red hoodie. It seems like forever, but in truth, the delay between the guy stealing the bag and me taking off after him is probably only a couple of seconds, a head start I can easily make up.
But the guy is wily. I can see him ahead, easily sidestepping the crowd, so I yell out, “Stop that guy! Thief!”
He looks back over his shoulder, and I get a good look at his face. Early twenties, maybe even late teens, closely cropped light-brown hair, and pale skin with a heavy smattering of freckles across his nose and deep purple smudges beneath his eyes. He sees me and his eyes go comically wide. Or it would be comical if he didn’t have the bag with Penny’s ring in his hand.
Annoyingly, no one tries to stop the guy. If anything, they seem to not want to get involved and start moving out of his way, which gives him an even easier escape route. I growl, putting everything I’ve got into my mad dash to catch him, but he disappears around a corner. A split-second later, I make the same turn, but he’s . . . gone. Poof! Vanished into thin air like a ghost.
I look in the doorway of the closest store. Nope. I look down an alley. Not there either. I even look up the building, thinking he might’ve scaled it like Spider-Man, but he’s no spider. Just a run-of-the-mill, shitty human thief. I glance around, thinking someone might tell me which way he went, but they shrug like they didn’t see a thing, as if they missed a guy in a bright-red hoodie, balls to the wall running from a guy the size of small European car.
“Fucking cowards,” I snarl, and a few of them cower back, shuffling their feet as they hurry to get farther away from me. Like I’m the one in the wrong here, not the other guy who stole.
Right. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Hand.
Shit. There’s no coming back from this. Penny is never going to forgive me. I saw how reluctant she was to let me hold the bag, like it was precious, and how worried she was that I was gonna do something juvenile like hold it over her head, playing keep-away with something important to her. I’m an asshole, but I wouldn’t do that. I understand that her work is everything to her. And she’s damn good at it.