Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“They better be enough. He can’t do surgery,” she theatrically sighs. “You know how much I hate staying overnight in Crystal Waters.” Her head shaking gets me grinning. “Big cities like that are killing this country. No one town should have that many places to get coffee from.”
“They really should just brew it at home, huh?”
“Exactly!”
Grateful to have her focus away from the woman hoping to blend into the background by hiding slightly behind me, I do my best to keep her rambling versus giving her a window to resume her questioning. “Anything new going on with you? Norm? Kirsten?”
“Oh! I was actually just reading something new Kirsten sent me! I could have her send it to you if you like…” Misplaced hope hops onto her expression about the same time I gently tap Bunny’s hand to stop it from helping unload the cart. “Maybe you two could finally go out? Grab a slice of pie from The Dig Site? You know Wendy Jo has a new pecan recipe she’s been bragging all over kingdom come about.”
I didn’t wanna date her daughter last month when she suggested it.
Or the month before that.
Or the month before that.
Or any of the months before that.
Kirsten isn’t my type of model – not that I have a specific one – but more importantly, I’m not hers.
Duck hunting, deer hunting, and beer chugging are nowhere to be found on my lists of shit I give a fuck about.
Neither is getting her pregnant and demanding she stay home to take care of us.
And, hey, that shit’s fine if it’s what you’re all into, like people who refuse to stop driving Pintos, but that’s not what I’m into.
I’d rather be behind the wheel of something for function and fun.
Gorgeous brown paint job would be a bonus.
“Why don’t you just tell me about what she sent?” Another polite swatting to my guest is executed. “Did it have to do with animals?”
“Yessirree. It sure did! And let me be first to say, I. Am. Floored.”
After lightly slapping Bunny’s hand away a third time, I ask, “Why?”
“Well,” she begins with a dramatic palm toss, “because it wasn’t anything like my normal little daily rounds online. You know how much I love a cute basset hound story here. Sweet squirrel story there. Ocean cuteness everywhere…”
You know I always thought it was weird our residential animal expert runs the local grocery store instead of a veterinary clinic. Nolan swears it’s because she’s easily distracted and that’s not ideal for the medical field. But me? I think it’s just because she would rather deal with a creature that can talk back in a language she understands, rather than having to try to decipher what barks, meows, and moos mean.
“However, this report? This report was about a bunny.”
Nodding to indicate I’m listening is done as opposed to retorting.
“Some crazy person out there killed a bunny! Mutilated it! Just chopped and butchered it and left it outside the women’s bathroom at one of the truck stops along the highway!”
Without missing a beat, I continue to empty our cart. “Why exactly is that newsworthy?”
“Because they used the damn thing’s blood to spell out the word bunny on the bathroom door! Like some sort of creepy, crawly Criminal Minds message! And you know how obsessed Kirsten is with that show. Can you believe she got me and Norm to start watching it? Thank God they rarely ever harm animals like that on it. Just people.”
All of a sudden, the cart knocks into the counter causing me to cut off my response and shift my gaze over to Bunny.
Or at least where she should be yet no longer is.
Spotting her ass hightailing it out of the shop has me abruptly insisting I’ll be right back and following suit.
Where the hell is she going?
And why?
Sure, the story’s a bit ride in the back of a hearse for fun, dark but that’s not a fucking reason to just bolt.
That shit doesn’t have anything to do with her.
Or her situation.
Or the prick from the Lambo.
Or…is there a mile marker chance in hell…that it does?
Chapter 7
Bunny
It wasn’t him.
It couldn’t have been.
Or even it was – because let’s be fucking real it probably was – it doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t know exactly where I am.
The GPS was found broken.
No longer tracking.
No longer informing him of my whereabouts.
I just wish I knew when it broke.
Maybe if I had that exact information or even a ballpark idea, I wouldn’t have run out of the store as if he were only two blocks away from finding me again.
Okay.
Honestly?
I probably would’ve still run out of the store like that.
It’s what I do.
Some people run for fun.
Some people run for pay.
I run for survival.
Always.
And you know what I’ve learned over these past few years?
It’s that self-preservation looks different for everyone. Part of me even believes that’s why he’ll never stop chasing me. Because my decision to end things with him defies his ability to have untouched power and legacy and prestige. Because someone in his position doesn’t get left. They get trophy wives. And mistresses. And escorts. They get whatever praise and approval and accolades they want.