Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry.”
He says it so quietly that I might’ve imagined it, then quickly whirls on his heel, striding down the hall.
Sorry for what? That we didn’t find the ring? It was a long shot. I’d hoped, really hoped, we would, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t likely. Still, I don’t call out that it’s okay as he rounds the corner. Instead, I watch his butt as he disappears.
I don’t like him. And that was weird. But a nice ass is a nice ass, and Griffin has that gyat-damn posterior. That I’m totally not into since I like . . . um, short, skinny, nerdy guys who talk a lot and are in touch with their emotions. Yep, that’s totally my type and I’m not overcompensating at all.
Inside, Talia is sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn at her side and a glass of wine in her hand. “Hey! Where’ve you been?” Given her Snoopy pajamas and freshly washed curls, she’s been holding down the couch for a bit, and hasn’t been outside today at all.
“It’s a long story, which I’ll share in one second, but first—”
I head over to the window and peek out, looking at the street in front of my building. I’m not sure what little voice in my head told me to do it, but I’m glad I do, because when Griffin appears, he looks . . . mad? I’m not sure that’s exactly it, but his eyes are narrowed, his jaw is set, and his shoulders are down and back like he’s trying to appear intimidating. It’s the game face I’ve seen hundreds of times. He scans up and down the street in both directions for several seconds.
“What’re we looking at?” Talia says from right beside me. “Oh! Griffin,” she says casually. And then I feel her eyes land on me heavily and she screeches, “OhmyGod! Griffin! Girl, you need to start talking.”
As though she’s got an ear pressed to the wall and was just waiting for us to make a peep, Mrs. Rosenthal bangs three times.
I ignore them both in favor of continuing to look out the window.
“It’s not like that.” But something about the way he’s searching the street has my Spidey senses tingling. Like he’s looking for something, or someone. It hits me with a duh. “He’s looking for Dom, probably scared my brother would murder him in broad daylight, no questions asked, if he saw us out together.”
Talia gasps. Not about the murder, because she’s seen Dom in action firsthand, but about Griffin and I being out together.
“No, not like that,” I rush to explain. “I need a glass of wine too. And Thin Mints.”
“On it,” she replies, high-kneeing it to the freezer. “Are we celebrating? Or commiserating?”
“Both.”
“I feel like I’ve missed an entire season of my favorite show, and I was only gone for three days,” Talia whines, throwing her head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling after I’ve told her everything from Carolynn’s call to striking out on recovering the stolen ring.
She wasn’t really gone gone. She’s a radiology tech at one of the local hospitals and works three twelve-hour shifts each week. It’s a great way to make full-time money, and gives her plenty of time off if she doesn’t take extra shifts. Unfortunately, she’s still too new to get the primo schedule, so her assignments are usually spaced out and then she’s sleeping at odd hours. Mix that with my work-when-I-want jewelry business plus my practice and game schedule, and we sometimes go entire weeks without seeing each other in person, even though we’re coming and going from the same apartment.
“Four. It’s Thursday,” I correct.
Talia’s eyes pop as they jerk to mine. “It is not.”
Nodding, I say, “Yes, it is. We had a single against the Beavers, then the whole ring situation happened, and there are games tomorrow and Saturday. Hawks versus Vortex.”
The games are how I keep track of time, and for some reason, the logic works on Talia, too, though she has no interest in hockey despite living with me and our apartment being constantly invaded by two professional hockey players. Actually, it’s probably a good thing she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about it, because if she flirted with Dom or Griffin when they came over, we would’ve never made it as roommates. Or best friends. And that would be a tragedy since she’s one of the best human beings to ever grace the planet as far as I’m concerned.
“It’s Thursday,” she says flatly. “Oh my God, I work Sunday. I have just over forty-eight hours before going back. I can feel the minutes slipping through my fingers.” She groans dramatically and virtually melts into the cushions, her arms and legs askew and her head lolled over to the side.