Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“No, can’t. Got a thing tonight.”
“A thing?” another one of the heavy equipment operators piped up, throwing a shovel into the bed of my diesel. “Since when do you have any damn thing?”
My grin tipped at the gentle jab. These guys were like family to me, which meant we busted each other’s balls as often as possible. “Since now.”
“All right, well, guess we’re free agents tonight, boys. What final local watering hole should we grace our presence with tonight?”
I huffed, climbing into my truck. “Have fun, but keep it safe.”
They chimed in, calling my often-repeated mantra back to me.
My mind raced as I pulled onto the main street, truck headed for home, sweet thoughts of that pretty little waitress invading my mind.
I didn’t really know why she’d gotten inside my head like she had.
Something about seeing her crumpled in the parking lot while I was feeding my fist to that fuckhead had about cracked my heart open.
And so here I was.
Tuesday night, leaving work early for my coffee date.
I nearly huffed at myself. The idea that this was a date was foolish to begin with. I didn’t do dates. I didn’t do dating. I didn’t do women, really, ever.
I frowned at the memory of the few women I had dated in the past; I’d never found anyone I wanted to grow old with, and I guess at some point I’d given up on women altogether. Some men liked to use women for one thing only and then discard them as if they didn’t exist, I’d never been able to understand how they could treat another human so carelessly. I all too often remembered my mother and the men who used her. They took what they wanted, and left when they were done. I knew from a very young age that I could never do that. I would never be the man to take and take, and leave nothing but a broken, damaged shell behind.
I pushed a hand over my head, smell of dust and regret hanging on me when I thought of how thoroughly I’d secluded myself at this stage of my life. I’d been so busy working, I hadn’t taken a minute to bother getting to know anyone new.
Now I had a great job and a mortgage, but not even a damn dog at home to love me.
I swallowed, feeling the first twinges of loneliness pepper my veins before turning into the driveway, eager to get in the house and out of these dirty clothes. By the time I’d reached the doorstep a minute later, I’d found myself at a roadblock.
What the fuck was a person supposed to wear on a non-date coffee date?
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in my closet, freshly showered with a towel wrapped around my torso and a problem. Every pair of jeans I owned was worn through with holes and faded knees. I wasn’t sure at what point I’d become a slave to the job, but this was a pretty good sign it was a problem I’d been overlooking.
I briefly ran down the list of places in town, wondering if I had time to leave early and grab something new. With that horrible new clothes smell.
“Well, fuck, here we go, then.” I gave up on giving any more fucks and pulled on the first pair that looked the least abused. With a plain white button-down I’d had to wear for a wedding a few years ago over my shoulders, I found the fine leather shoes I’d been forced to wear with the outfit and shoved those on my feet.
I hated them instantly, yearning for the comfort of my leather work boots.
“Hell, no wonder I don’t do this kind of shit.”
But then her pretty face popped into my mind, big round eyes filled with tears and wrenching my heart like a sad puppy. It’d only taken one look at her hiding in that old phone booth to feel something stirring in me.
I paused, taking in the tiny crow’s feet at my eyes, the laugh lines that bracketed my easy smile. I’d spent a lot of years working hard under the harsh rays of the sun. It always made me laugh to think of the gym rats lying in tanning beds after a workout.
I had all the working out and natural tanning I could take.
“This is it.” I slid my hand around my damp hair, frowning when it spiked every which way stubbornly, before giving up altogether and heading out.
“I should probably stop at the shelter on the way home and pick myself out a dog,” I muttered under my breath as I locked the front door behind me and then angled for my truck. “Better than talking to yourself, you idiot.”
I yanked open the door of my truck, climbed in quickly, and turned the engine over. Just a few minutes later, I was coasting the few blocks down the street and around the corner, easing into the parking lot of Miller’s.