Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
My second thing to be grateful for was that he was a paranoid asshole because he walked away too, heading back toward the side door so that we couldn’t hear him.
The second that door slammed shut, I fisted my fucking hands at that same moment Deepa said, “Oh hell, Bianca.”
Because she knew exactly what he had threatened me with, what he was taking away. My fucking Disney World vacation that I had been looking forward to.
This fucking fuck asshole.
* * *
I kept planning the rest of my shift and the entire drive home.
I didn’t regret what I’d done, but I couldn’t help but be pretty pissed off at Gunner for being such a jerk. He couldn’t fire me over that. I was pretty sure. He was just going to do whatever he could to piss me off. Maybe he didn’t actually think he’d be able to push me away—that I’d be so desperate I would eat all the shit he tried to feed me—or maybe that was exactly what he wanted. Me to quit.
But he didn’t know me. I wasn’t going to do anything unless it was on my terms, especially when it concerned him. He wasn’t going to get to bully me.
Now I was going to stick around on principle, or at least until Deepa got out of there, like my original plan.
But what his little threat made me do was think about what was to come after. My lease was about to end, and I hadn’t renewed it yet. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. The more I thought about it, the more uncertain I got.
I had gotten an email that afternoon from the photographer and food stylist I was hiring to shoot my cookbook. She had an opening in November and wanted to know if I wanted to move up my booking.
I had a lot more work left to do, and I wasn’t sure how I could make it happen but knew it was a good idea to let her move me up in the queue. I had a gut feeling about what I’d have to do to get everything done in time… but I wasn’t ready yet to make that decision and break my own heart. Even if it kind of seemed like fate.
Oh well, I thought as I headed up to my apartment hours later.
It wasn’t like Zac had showed up to Maio House with the intention to see me and get me into this predicament. But I wondered again how the hell Gunner could have found out in the first place. Part of me had expected someone to post a picture or a video of Zac at Lola’s quince, but I hadn’t seen a thing pop up, fortunately, and if it had, I hadn’t been tagged in it, and neither had he. Gunner didn’t have social media accounts anyway, so I doubted he’d seen Zac on my channel.
I sighed and scratched at the tip of my nose as I stopped at the top of the landing to my apartment that evening.
Because right next to it, leaning against my door, was a man.
A tall, lean man.
His head lolled over from where he had been holding it, facing the blank opposite wall.
I recognized his slow, slight smile before I noticed the familiar clothing of jeans, broken in boots, and very white T-shirt.
“Hey, Peewee,” Zac drawled with about as much enthusiasm as I had for cleaning out my shower drain when it clogged.
Something was wrong. He’d had practice that morning and afternoon. He’d told me the night before via text.
“Hey, Snack Pack,” I said carefully, taking a step forward now that I knew he wasn’t some serial killer creeper. I stopped right in front of him, taking in the bunched muscles of his biceps from how he’d been standing there with his arms crossed before slowly letting them drop to his sides.
There was something definitely wrong. His smile was half pulled up, but it was all off. Plus his eyes didn’t look all that right either. They were dim, and his skin looked tightly stretched across all those sharp, pretty bones of his face.
“What happened?” I asked him, letting the strap of my purse slide off my shoulder and land in my opened palm. I set my opposite hand on his forearm. Please God, tell me they didn’t release him. “Want to talk about it or no?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and it tore me up some more.
“Do you want me to trip someone? Need a hug? Want a back scratch on the house?” I offered some more, rubbing my thumb over his tight, muscular forearm.
Those broad shoulders seemed to sag right in front of my eyes, and I wondered what the hell had happened. Things had been fine. They’d been great. He’d seemed normal just last night. Everything about him the last couple of weeks had screamed cautious optimism. He seemed to like his coach and teammates. I’d even asked him if he was fine with not starting, and he’d just slid me that lopsided smile of his and said, “Somebody reminded me I should be thankin’ my lucky stars even if I’m number two, and that’s what I’m doin’, darlin’.”