Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
No doubt, somewhere not far away people were already hustling to prepare for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. But tonight, on a random street in the Theater District, there were only a few souls huddled in their winter garb wandering the sidewalks.
Guilt made his steps heavy as he walked away. It had been over two years since he’d visited.
Not that New York was home, but it was close enough. He’d grown up not far away in Connecticut. A short drive really. He could get on his bike now and be at his grandparents’ house in sixty minutes. Hell, maybe less. At this hour the streets would be practically empty. A ball of anxiety coiled in his chest and he shook his head.
No, not tonight. He needed to feed Harrison’s ridiculous turtle and clean up. He’d call them tomorrow.
Or the day after. By Friday, for sure.
Definitely, he’d see them before he left town.
He pushed on his helmet and swung his leg over to mount his baby, the Harley-Davidson FXR Cruiser he’d been riding since he was old enough to drive. She roared to life. Her purr settled the restlessness and unease that had tightened his muscles during his conversation with Brandon.
The open road was ahead and nothing else mattered.
* * *
Driver shrugged the old army bag full of laundry over his shoulder as the ancient fluorescent lights flickered on overhead. The building’s basement laundry room was deserted, as he’d expected. And just as well maintained as the rest of the building—so, not very.
Everything looked about thirty years old, even the cobwebs.
But Harrison had said the machines worked and wouldn’t rip his clothes to shreds, which was all he really needed.
It’d been weeks since he’d done a proper load and he was sick of sorting through his shirts to pick the one that stank the least. If nothing else came from this trip, at least he’d have clean threads for a while.
Out of the two washers, he chose the one that seemed least broken. And yeah, his grandmother had taught him to sort colors and whites, but what was the point when he only had a few of each? He stuffed it all in together, though he did make sure to double-check all his pockets.
After losing a few phone numbers to the evils of a spin cycle, he’d learned his lesson.
He’d definitely scored in that department tonight. Dropping the empty bag to the floor, he pulled the bundle of napkins from his pocket. Five in total. The faces and names were all jumbled together in his memory but it didn’t matter. He’d pick one at random and have a couple nights of fun, then he’d move on again with nothing holding him back. Exactly how he liked it. No strings. No commitments. All pleasure, all the time.
He placed the numbers on the lid of the unused machine along with the cash, his keys, wallet, and the Zippo. Sterling silver and engraved with detailed filigree, his father’s lighter had probably been remarkable when it was new, all shiny and unique. Now it just looked old and dirty, worn down and useless.
All the things he never went anywhere without laid out like pieces on a game board. Or clues to a mystery.
The mystery of a drifter running away from his own past.
He pulled off his shirt and tossed it in with the rest of the laundry. Brandon must have really gotten in his head with all his sentimental crap. Or maybe it was being back after such a long time.
Maybe this was why he’d stayed away. Maybe some piece of him had known all this bullshit would surround him. Hell, he hadn’t even been in town for a full twenty-four hours and already his stomach twisted with guilt.
Jesus. Fucking asshole Brandon.
Old resentment made unbuckling his belt jerky and he whipped it off with an angry flick. There was absolutely no sane reason to be filled with these negative emotions. He knew that. He did.
But he couldn’t help it.
Twisting the old leather in his fists, he took a deep breath. No. Stop it. Fuck this fucking spiral. He wouldn’t be tumbling down it again. His shoulders relaxed, he dropped the belt with the rest of his stuff and unsnapped his jeans. They were around his knees when he heard a soft gasp come from the doorway behind him.
The sound startled him so much he twisted to look without letting go of his pants. The resulting tangle landed him on his ass, staring up at a stunning woman with long blond hair and beautiful wide eyes.
“Shit—”
“Are you okay?”
They spoke at the same time. Her voice was like honey, thick and syrupy. It oozed over his senses.
“Only thing bruised is my ego,” Driver answered. Actually, his ass was throbbing like a motherfucker. The ground was solid cement. At the moment though, he was too focused on the newcomer to care.