Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
But until she leaves, her safety is my responsibility.
Or so I tell myself as I slink into the bushes beneath the oak by the garage. I go still, straining for the sound of her cry of surprise as the Supermodel Bandit demands she put her valuables into his duffel bag. Instead, I hear low, warm voices, then Clover’s laugh, and something that sounds like “why didn’t you tell me?” before the apartment door closes, muffling the sound.
Why didn’t he tell her what?
That he was in town? That he got a sweet new promotion? That he and his boyfriend are recently engaged?
This guy could very well be gay. He’s very, very handsome, and very handsome men are often gay. And even if he’s not gay, that doesn’t mean he and Clover are anything more than friends. And even if they are, it’s none of my business!
This is none of my business. I should go back inside. Now.
I lean my forehead against the tree. It’s damp, and the bark smells like sadness, wet and earthy in a sour way that makes me feel especially pathetic.
What the fuck am I doing out here?
As if in answer to my question, a heavy black shadow plops down on the garage windowsill a few feet away, and croaks, “Cray cray.”
It’s Edgar, coming in hot and opinionated as usual.
“Hush,” I whisper. “I’m not crazy, and you should go home. You know you’re not supposed to be cruising the neighborhood after dark. If Maybelline wakes up and sees you out of the pen after bedtime again, no treats for you tomorrow.”
Edgar settles more firmly onto the ledge, clearly unimpressed by my threats. He chortles low in his throat, doing his best rusty garbage disposal impression.
“I’m serious,” I hiss, pulse spiking. “Get. Shoo. Now. Before they hear you upstairs.”
He cocks his head to one side, then the other, his black button eyes sparkling as he catches the scent of drama in the water. If there’s one thing my neighbor’s nosy crow loves more than sparkly things, it’s drama.
“What what? Cray cray?” he caws again, demanding to know what’s going on. And why my crazy ass is out of bed lurking in the bushes in the middle of the night. “Cray cray cray?”
I motion for him to cut it out with a jerk of my hand, dropping my voice to a desperate whisper, “Nothing! Nothing is going on. I was checking to make sure Clover was safe. That’s it. But she’s fine, and I’m going back inside. Nothing to see here.”
The crow rattles at me again, a knowing sound that says he sees straight through my bullshit to the obsessed, lovesick madman beneath.
“Seriously, I’m going to bed,” I say, stepping away from the tree.
He cocks his head in a silent, mocking challenge.
“I am,” I insist. “You smug little shit.”
Edgar throws his head back and cackles, long and loud, the sound echoing like gunfire through the silent air.
“Hello?” a feminine voice calls from overhead.
Shit!
I drop to a crouch like I’m taking enemy fire, my knees popping as I scuttle closer to the shrub, praying the dry leaves clinging to the tree will offer cover, and that Clover won’t spot me lurking in the shadows.
It sounds like she has her head fully out of the apartment window as she calls, “Edgar? Is that you? What are you doing out this late?”
Edgar emits a string of caws that seem to say, Nothing much, just watching your boss creep around in your bushes like a jealous weirdo. Right down here. By the tree. See? Look at him, in his ratty sweatshirt and give-up-on-life sweatpants. He’s a real cray cray, this guy.
“I hate you,” I mouth, hoping he reads lips. “I hate you, we’re not friends anymore, and I’m never letting Ava bring you breakfast treats ever again.”
He hops off the window ledge onto the dead grass beside me with another raucous cackle, clearly enjoying our falling out. A beat later, the side door leading into the garage opens, and Clover steps outside.
My heart lurches into my throat, throbbing out a panicked techno beat.
Fuck, that was fast! How did she get down the stairs that fast? I know her leg’s been feeling better, but I didn’t realize she was that much better.
Biting my bottom lip and cursing my luck, I freeze, torn between trying to stay hidden in the shadows and standing and owning up to my mistake.
It was a mistake to come out here.
A big mistake.
Because even now, with her boy toy upstairs waiting for her and a crow mocking my pain as he struts around my yard like he owns the place, the smell of Clover’s perfume is still enough to make me ache.
“I thought that was you,” she says. “What are you up to, Trouble?”
She moves away from the building, off the concrete, and onto the lawn. Just a few more steps and a slight turn to her right, and she’s going to see me.