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)
Because we’re not in love.
Because no one falls in love that fast even when all of their instincts are insisting, they already have.
That math just doesn’t math there.
And I would know.
I’m the one with a master’s degree in accounting.
During the crossing of the short distance from their small corner space to the counter where Kipp is anxiously trying to end a conversation with Mr. November, the tips of two of Nolan’s fingers, find mine to protectively curl around in an effort to wordlessly remind me that there’s never a moment I have to worry about being safe again.
Fuck, if it were only that simple.
God knows I want it to be.
Our arrival at Kipp’s side receives a small onceover that results in a sappy grin over the sight of us connected.
It’s nauseatingly adorable how much he likes seeing us together.
To my surprise, jealousy is nowhere to be found when he’s not included in a moment or gesture.
Maybe because we all have this three fuckateers mindset of one for all and all for one?
Maybe because he knows he can have either of us at the same snap of a finger no questions asked?
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he knows our relationship with one another isn’t where that ugly emotion belongs.
Now, when we’re watching a movie and I make the mistake of mentioning how hot I think some actor is?
Well, that’s a whole other story.
Heaven forbid he’s tall, dark haired, and older.
I might as well just throw the flat screen off the balcony porch to never be used again at that point.
“I’m tellin’ you,” the brunette, late middle-aged man who has at least a good ten years on Nolan, wags his credit card in Kipp’s direction, “a storm’s a comin’.”
“You say that every time you see gray clouds for too long,” Kipp warmly argues. “You’ve been sayin’ the same shit since I was a kid.”
“You technically are still a kid,” Nolan needles with a smirk.
Kipp flashes him his middle finger, yet it doesn’t deter Mr. November from continuing, “The winds changed. It’s in the air.” He begins to tuck the rectangle object back into his wallet. “I’d know. I’m out in it every day.” His attention shifting completely downward precedes his warning. “Bloody gas stations…”
The painting of my name.
“…lost tourists…”
The braggy so-called bounty hunter.
“…and now a missing diner waitress a few towns over?”
Oh, fuck.
Another person got hurt?
Was it the woman who gave me directions?
Was it because she gave me directions?
Is this shit my fault?
Am I to blame for her disappearance too?!
Who am I kidding.
Of course I am.
I always am.
The number of lives taken over me is too high.
Too…surreal.
When will it all stop?
How do I make it stop!?
Seeing Mr. November slowly shake his head spreads a pool of dread in the pit of my stomach. “I’m tellin’ ya. Something ain’t right out there, and whatever it is?” He tucks his wallet back into his pocket and looks straight at me. “It’s headed right for us, Ms. Ripley.”
Vomit lurches up the back of my throat prompting Nolan’s grip to tighten while Kipp does his best to rush out the lingering customer. “Noted, November.” Shoving the vehicle key across the countertop is quickly done. “She’s out front ready to go. I’ll see you in about a month to rotate those tires.”
“Thanks, Kipp!” He shoots a friendly wave to the two of us afterward. “See you around, Nolan.” A kind chin tip is given in my direction. “Ma’am.”
Ma’am?!
Okay, first he basically insists I brought the anti-Christ to town and then he goes out of his way to make sure to acknowledge I’m not as young as one of the men I’m crazy about?!
Why?!
Why?! Why?! Why?!
What did I do to deserve his soothsayer rage?!
Why am I always the target of someone’s displeasure?!
Kipp slips his fingers over to mine prompting Nolan to let go to lock the door during their lunchbreak. “Baby…” His voice sweetly hums, dragging my stare away from where the ghost of future crimes to come is exiting and over to him. “You have nothing to worry about, okay? This is just what he does. November predicts the world’s ending every six weeks or so.”
“I blame the pastor’s wife,” Mutt announces post the click sound that indicates we’re secure inside. “That fire and brimstone shit kicking is just guilt being regurgitated.”
Confusion crinkles my forehead. “Guilt for what?”
“Let’s just say November’s been delivering a different type of package on Wednesday’s for at least a decade.”
My jaw plummets to the floor. “No…”
“Gotta be longer than that,” Kipp heartily chuckles. “I remember my mom talking about that shit when I was little.”
“You’re still little,” our partner swiftly reminds, “so that’s not really a good measure of time.”
“How about for lunch I show you just how little I’m not.” The devilish glint in his eye ignites an ache between my thighs. “Just how nice…” he momentarily pauses to remove his grease stained t-shirt over his head in one swift motion, “I grew up.”