Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
It couldn’t be because I was gay. While I had never hidden it, I also didn’t flaunt it and most women, when I broke it to them gently, were shocked to find out the truth.
Most men, too.
I’d heard, “My gaydar must be broken,” more times than I’d ever wanted to.
Even so, dating wasn’t on my agenda anytime soon. Or ever, since I had no plans on dating anyone ever again.
Life would be easier that way. Plus, at this point, being a team player didn’t matter, I preferred to remain a free agent.
Ignoring the man, I finished shoving the forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth, wondering when the guy would get bored with watching me and lose interest in whatever had caught it in the first place.
Trying to ignore the rude man, I stabbed a piece of sausage, also shoving it into my mouth and chewing. Sucking down half a cup of black coffee, I hoped the guy would simply fuck off.
Finally, unable to ignore him anymore, I dropped the fork on my plate with a clatter, tipped my head down and rubbed my forehead. I steadied my breathing in an attempt to lower my quickly rising blood pressure.
I only wanted to eat in peace. I wasn’t here to make friends, or even enemies.
I wanted to be left the fuck alone.
But of course that wasn’t going to happen.
This was exactly why I left Long Island, everything I knew and everybody who knew me. I wanted to live somewhere no one knew me or my backstory. I had gotten to the breaking point, swallowed up by pity on one hand, or people thinking it was time I “got over it” on the other.
I’d never get over it.
Not fucking ever.
“Fuck!” screamed through my head when the dark-haired man rose from where he sat at the counter. After throwing a few singles next to his plate, he turned and headed away from the entrance and toward my booth.
Of. Fucking. Course.
Dread rose from my gut into my throat and began to choke me. The man might have recognized me somehow.
Lifting my coffee cup, I used it to hide my face, but peered over the rim to keep an eye on the approaching man. My muscles and spine stiffened more with every step taken closer to where I sat.
Trying to mind my own business.
Trying to eat breakfast.
Trying to exist in peace.
Maybe the guy was headed to the restrooms right past my booth. If only I could be so lucky.
Attempting not to be too obvious, I quickly scanned the man from head to toe.
He might be in his late thirties or early forties. Possibly three or four inches shorter than my six-foot-two. Solidly built, he had broad shoulders and a trim torso that tapered down to his hips. All he needed was a flannel shirt and an axe to go along with his thick, dark beard and he’d be the poster boy for a lumberjack.
As he moved, the short sleeves of his snug T-shirt caught on his bulging biceps. His thighs appeared thick in his worn jeans. And his pecs did not bounce with each step. Hell no, they flexed.
The man was serious about his physique.
I used to be fit mentally and physically, too.
Now I felt nothing but broken. As if the patched-up pieces had been glued together so I could appear whole.
One wrong move and I’d easily shatter all over again.
I raised my gaze back up to the man’s face when he stopped at my table.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the man was handsome with his strong jawline covered in a full, but well-trimmed, beard. Not a gray hair could be seen on his head or his face. His dark chocolate eyes framed in thick, black lashes held curiosity.
And maybe something else. But I might be imagining that.
It was hard to read a stranger’s intentions and I wasn’t about to try.
While I had been checking him out, one corner of full lips pulled up in a half-smile. It came off as friendly but cautious. Like he was trying to hand a treat to a stray dog that might snap at him at any second.
Me being that snapping stray.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” His rich, baritone voice was tinged with steel when it rumbled from him.
“But you did anyway.”
The man’s head tipped to the side slightly while turning the tables and searching my face.
I picked up a forkful of hash browns slathered in ketchup and shoved them into my mouth in an unspoken message of “Can’t you see I’m eating and don’t want to be bothered?”
“I was trying to place you. You look familiar.”
I almost choked on my mouthful of food. “Doubt it.”
His thick, dark eyebrows pinned together. “No, I know you from somewhere.”
“You don’t.” I took a long sip of coffee to wash down the crispy, shredded potatoes. However, my breakfast was now sitting like a cement block deep within my stomach.