Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Let’s ask him if Shane comes here often.” I nod to the guy behind the counter who checks out the balls for the tables. Bam stares down at me, his eyes searching my face. “Come on.” I tug on his shirt for us to go talk to the big bold guy. “You got that pic of Shane on your phone to show him?”
“Yes.” He pulls out his phone when we make it to the counter. “Is he in here often?” Bam asks him. The guy gives him a dead look, not responding. Bam slams his fist down on the counter. “Are we going to have a problem, or are you going to answer the fucking question?” His tone is serious as all get-out, and I find that I’m liking this side of Bam.
The overweight, bald man stands up from the chair he was occupying. “I don’t know who you—” He cuts off his own words when he finally notices Bam’s tattoo. “Let me see it again.” Bam pushes it over to him. “A few times a week.”
Bam grabs a pen off the counter and a random piece of paper, scribbling down his phone number. “When he comes in again, you text me.” He pulls out his wallet and drops a hundred down on top of the paper.
“Got it.” He nods, taking the paper and cash and stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans.
I grab the edge of the counter, feeling dizzier. “Bam,” I mutter, the word sounding slurred even to my own ears.
“Rebel.” Bam grabs my chin, forcing my face upward. “Where is your phone?”
“Pocket,” I manage to get out. He reaches around, pulling it out.
“It’s dead, Josie.” I stumble back a step.
“Fuck,” I say. One second I’m standing, and the next I’m in a chair with Bam barking at someone.
“I don’t—” I lick my dry lips. “Feel so great.” Black spots dance in my eyes. “Don’t be mad.” I’m in so much trouble.
“Josie.” Bam’s voice sounds far away but panicked. A giggle bubbles free when he pushes up my shirt.
“Bam,” I hiss when he squeezes the fat on my stomach. “That’s rude.”
He pushes the eject button on the pen and clicks it. I grab the arm of the chair.
“Drink,” he orders, a glass coming to my mouth. I sip the tangy juice.
“Gross.”
“Drink it,” he growls, and I take another sip. I blink as my head starts to clear, the fog and heaviness lifting.
Bam is on his knees between my thighs, his hands cupping my face. “Tell me you’re with me.” His face is pale and worried looking.
“I’m with you.” I swallow. “Shit.”
“I told you to let me install the app on my phone too, Josie.” His hands drop from my face. “God damn it.” I jump, not used to him using that tone of voice on me. He’s pissed.
“I forgot my pen in my bag,” I say when I see one on the table next to me.
“I grabbed one out of the fridge a few days ago. It said they last for a month without refrigeration.” I nod in confirmation.
Bam stands and starts pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. He’s pissed. I get it. I’m mad at myself too.
However, what I hate more than anything is knowing that this will change things. Bam’s going to treat me differently, and not in the girlfriend kind of way. People always do.
Chapter Twenty-One
BAM
My first impulse is to tie her up and then drag her into a bedroom surrounded by a refrigerator full of foods that will keep her insulin in check, and then never let her out. But I can sense fear radiating from her. Josie is an outside girl, a doer. She likes being at the front of the line, not peering over someone’s shoulders. She’d waste away to nothing locked up in a room.
“I gave you what you wanted, now you need to get gone. The last thing I need is an ambulance coming in here to carry out a dead girl.” The bartender’s sharp words stop me in my tracks.
“She’s not dying,” I bark out.
“I’m fine,” Josie adds, but her voice is weak, and I don’t think it carries far enough for the burly guy to hear her.
He shrugs. “I recognize a diabetic when I see one. My mom is insulin dependent, but she’s not having these kinds of spells because we take good care of her. You’re not doing your job.”
This time, his words pierce my skin like an actual knife. He’s not wrong. I should have been more careful with Josie. She should have never gotten to the place where she was feeling woozy, let alone where she needed a shot.
“I know,” I say simply because I deserve the lashings. I reach down and lift Josie into my arms. She thumps her fists against my shoulder.