Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Rude.
So. Rude.
I dial up Molly, and it rings three times before she answers. “Thank God you picked up,” I breathe.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” No. “Duke is here.”
My statement is followed by silence. “And? How’s it going?”
I can hear her tapping away at something—most likely her laptop. Her phone is probably wedged under her chin while she works.
“He climbed into the house through my kitchen window, came to my office, and scared the ever-loving piss out of me,” I ramble on in one long, breathless sentence.
“He what? Wait. What?”
“You heard me correctly, Molls. Apparently, it took me too long to come to the door, so he let himself in like a common criminal.”
“Stop it right now.”
“Are you laughing?”
“No, I’m…” She laughs. “I’m not laughing. You’re laughing.”
“Molly Summervale, this is not funny!”
“I’m sorry, but I’m trying to picture it.”
“You know damn well if you were in your office and some random dude you’ve never met opened your door while you were concentrating, you’d have a heart attack.”
“This is true,” she allows. “Still, he was expected to be there.”
“Oh, so that makes it okay? Gotcha.”
“Don’t be mad. I’m not defending him. I just know how he is. Sort of. I’ve only met him once, and it was a Zoom call.”
“He’s worse than all the little boys in my class combined.”
“Oh shit—that bad?”
“Worse.”
“What’s he doing now?” She wants to know, giving me her full attention, no doubt standing next to those big panoramic windows of her penthouse apartment in the sky.
“Who knows? I didn’t have a meal prepared and didn’t go grocery shopping to stock my fridge with his dietary needs.” I roll my eyes at that. “So he left.”
“Does he have a car?”
“No. He’s on foot. Like Bigfoot, stalking around the neighborhood.” I think. Or maybe he’s just in the backyard hiding.
“There’s no way he’s walking around the neighborhood. He’s there to hide, remember?”
True.
“He’s probably in the tree house out back.”
“Tree house out back? What are you talking about?”
“Behind the garage is a tree house. Didn’t you know that?”
“Uh, no.”
“If he hasn’t come back, I’d check there. I doubt you’d find him wandering the streets, not without a disguise.”
“I can see what you mean. He sticks out like a sore thumb around here in his cowboy boots.”
Molly laughs. “Cowboy boots?”
“Oh yeah—cowboy boots. Real nice ones, too.” I giggle. “He looks like a bona fide country boy.” More like a country singer than a football player—or like he just walked off a ranch in Montana.
“So. Are you going to feed him?”
“Pfft. No.” Well, maybe. I’d feel bad if I didn’t, not that I’m going to run out and get all the ridiculous items from his grocery list.
Kale, two pounds.
Almond butter, organic.
Seedless cucumbers, two.
Protein powder, five-pound container, found at the health food store.
Tomatoes. Celery. Eggs, three cartons. Almond milk, unsweetened.
The list went on and on and on and was longer than my so-called list of “rules” he doesn’t want to abide by.
“If you want your groceries, you can get them yourself, asshole,” I say out the window after I’ve ended my call with Molly, eyes scanning the backyard for any sight of him.
How did I not know there was a tree house in the backyard? My keen gaze seeks it out like I’m back on playground duty, finally locating it among the mature trees behind the detached garage, its board hidden by years and years of greenery growth.
A flash of a plaid shirt catches my eye.
Eventually, Duke comes sauntering into sight, a cocky swagger I’ll have to learn to get used to for the next fourteen days…
Let the countdown begin.
3
duke
Something smells amazing.
So amazing my stomach growls, wanting to be fed, the toe of my boots hitting the wooden porch step, eager to find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Or in this case, a big ole meal once I get through the open door…
Posey had no intention of feedin’ me. That much was evident the second I told her my agent had sent over a food list, the list she couldn’t be bothered to fulfill.
Who tells their guest to fend for themselves? What kind of hostess is that? Three stars, do not recommend.
What does she want me to do, starve?
She’s a kindergarten teacher, for fuck’s sake. Aren’t they supposed to be nurturing?
Eli told me she was the nicest woman he’s ever met, and so far, I ain’t seen any evidence of that.
I follow my nose into the small kitchen and find her at the stove.
“What’s goin’ on?”
When she turns, my eyes stray to her body; she has flour on the tip of her nose, the front of her shirt, on her tits, and in her hair.
Odd that I never gave her a once-over while she was sitting at her desk—then again, she was sitting at her desk, and I wasn’t able to get a good look at her. Not with her eyes all wild. Not when she was wielding a letter opener at me.