Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Just placing a to-go order. Two of tonight’s special. Taking it to my boyfriend.”
He smirks at me. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
“I’m sure Jarrett will fill you in.”
“Fuck me, tell me it’s not that dirty bastard.”
“Nah,” I say with a wicked grin. “Someone older, though.” Then, I make a motion to zip my lips.
He laughs. “Give me ten minutes.”
I hand him my card to pay, and once I’ve signed, he heads to the back to cook. Pretending to be interested in the menu, I keep my attention focused there rather than the eyes burning a hole in my side.
The hateful slur is said louder this time. It seems to quiet a few tables nearby. Great. Now I feel more than three pairs of eyes on me.
My eyes dart Jeremy’s direction when I sense people approaching. Sure enough, he and his stupid buddies are all prowling my way, evil intent written all over their faces.
“Looky here,” Jeremy says. “If it’s not the little boy who cries wolf.”
“Whatever, man,” I mutter, turning my gaze back to the menu.
“I’m talking to you, homo.”
I grit my teeth, reigning in my anger. I’m doing a great job at it when this fucker pokes my ass cheek with his finger. I swivel around, glaring at him.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl, my face burning with embarrassment.
“I thought you liked it up the ass,” he throws back. “Fuckin’ make-up wearing pussy.” His friends cackle like he’s a goddamn comedian.
I flinch at his words, but then he flinches as someone sidles up beside me.
“There a problem?” Fernando demands, his voice icy.
“Nope,” Jeremy sneers. “No problem at all.”
The disgusted expression on his face says otherwise.
“You ready to pay?” Fernando asks.
Jeremy flips open his wallet, pulls out several bills, and tosses them on the counter. “Keep the change.”
I start to relax as they retreat, but then Jeremy spins around, clearly needing to have the last word. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and get the fuck out of Brigs Ferry Bay? Don’t you see that we don’t want you here?”
Fernando takes several steps forward, his body vibrating with anger. “Get the hell out of my restaurant. Don’t ever come back either.”
The restaurant has gone quieter because of our raised voices. My skin burns with humiliation. It’s another reminder that when we lived in New York, we never dealt with this. We were never singled out for who we were.
Fernando gives my shoulder a squeeze before heading back to the kitchen. The restaurant resumes its buzzing after Jeremy and his buds are gone. A few minutes later, Fernando returns with my to-go order.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says, his brows knitted together in sympathy. “Assholes like that are compensating for something seriously lacking in their own life.”
I force a smile for him. “Thanks, man.”
Exiting Comida’s, I carefully scan the area to make sure Jeremy isn’t lingering. Thankfully, he’s gone. I squint against the blistery wind and trudge back toward the police department. I should tell Atlas on those pricks, but then he’d want to fight more battles for me. He’d been so pissed when he learned his dad threatened me. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he’d left so damn fast.
I don’t want to be someone who always needs to be protected.
Sometimes, I wish I could protect myself.
Sucking in a chilly breath of air, I steel my nerves before walking into the police station. The last thing I need is Atlas sensing my distress.
Breathe, Callan.
Atlas is the only one in the station. His broad back is turned to me as he flips through a file in front of him. His dark blond hair is tousled from the wind making me crave to run my fingers through it.
“Hey,” I greet. “I come bearing gifts.”
He spins around in his desk chair, his eyes glittering at the sight of me. It’s his wide, playful smile that has my heart stuttering in my chest.
Atlas is so goddamn sexy.
“You’re the gift,” he says, laying the cheese on thick.
I roll my eyes. “My mouth is the gift. Later. If you’re a good boy and eat all your supper.”
He leans back in his chair, drinking in my appearance. I feel exposed to him. Laid bare. Naked and transparent. Though I try to hide my hurt from earlier at Comida’s, being the good cop and boyfriend he is, he immediately senses it.
“Take your coat off and come sit.” His muscular thighs are parted, straining the denim. He pats one thigh. And dammit, if it doesn’t look like the best seat in the house.
I set the bag down on his desk and then shed my admittedly warm Bean’s coat that I successfully stole from Atlas. My friends back home would die if they saw me happily wearing a boring Bean’s coat.
Back home.
Bitterness roils in my gut.