Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 72442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Well, Dre’s used-to-be man.
My heart ached at the first look at Craig, just as it always did.
And, like always, the moment he saw me, he turned away.
I felt my stomach tighten as I watched helplessly as he looked once more at me, turned, then walked straight into his house without a backward glance.
That was when I remembered Dre, who’d been sitting on the couch as I’d exited.
There was no way he hadn’t heard the commotion.
Especially when I’d exited the house.
Turning, I saw Dre on the front porch, looking like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest.
I swallowed hard, then walked up the length of the sidewalk, up the front porch steps, then wrapped my arms around Dre. Dre, being Dre, wrapped his arms right back around me and said, “He’s not giving me a chance.”
I felt my heart thump hard in my chest.
“Dre,” I murmured. “I think it’s time to stop being rational about this. Stop creeping around him like he’s going to remember. Maybe you have to give him new memories. New reasons to love you.”
It’d been years. I honestly felt that if he was going to remember, Craig would have.
Craig was healed. He was whole.
He just wasn’t the same Craig that he used to be, and it was time for Dre to take that into consideration.
When I stepped back from Dre, it was to find him staring at me with a new determination in his eyes.
“You’re right.”
I patted his chest.
“I know,” I murmured.
“Who’s the man staring at me?”
I turned and looked over my shoulder to see the who he was talking about.
Slate now had his back turned away from us, and he was standing stiffly with his arms crossed over his chest, listening to something my dad was saying. He also had drops of wetness on his t-shirt from my earlier payback.
The other man with him, though?
Bayou was married to Phoebe, one of my childhood friends. He was ‘as sweet as can be’ according to her, but he was intimidating to the rest of the world. He fit right into that circle of badass just like my father and Slate did.
“He’s hot,” Dre supplied.
I snorted. “That’s all it takes for you? The death glares that he’s sending out don’t affect you any?”
Dre snorted and shrugged. “I can’t help what my eyes see.”
But there was still sadness there. A deep-seated, never going to heal sadness that made my heart ache every time I saw him.
I patted him lightly on the shoulder, then realized briefly that I still had my mascara wand in my hand. “Can you go put this back?”
He took the wand, rolled his eyes, then said, “Don’t forget the lunch I made you.”
I gave him a nod, went back inside, grabbed my bag and my lunch, then walked back out to my car to deposit it all inside.
The moment that I had it all in, I slammed the car door then walked back to the huddle that the men had going on.
I walked up to my dad, being super careful to be as quiet as possible, just like he taught me, stopped about a foot away, then said loudly, “Dad!”
My father’s shoulders tightened, and he turned with a glare on his face. “Must you do that?”
I smiled sweetly at him. “All’s fair in love and war.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I taught you how to do that so you could do it to your brother. Not to me,” he said.
I shrugged. “Do you want to go get some dinner before my shift starts?”
My eyes went to the man that was trying hard to ignore me, as well as the man that wasn’t trying hard at all.
I walked up to the one doing the ignoring, stared him straight in the eye, and held out my hand.
“My name is Harleigh.”
Bayou looked at my hand, and honestly considered not taking it. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head. As if he wanted nothing to do with me. Which was how he always acted every single time I saw him.
Well fine.
I didn’t need to shake his hand. My father had just taught me never to be rude. So whatever.
I dropped it.
He held out his hand as if he felt bad for not taking mine, and I snorted and walked away.
“Whatever,” I said. “Dad, you want to come or not?”
My father caught me by the braid, tugged me back around, and threw his arm around my shoulder, anchoring me to his side.
“Harleigh Belle, don’t be rude.” Dad gestured to the man that was still holding his hand out for me.
I rolled my eyes and shook it once, then dropped my hand as if he’d burned me.
Bayou dropped his hand to his side and looked relieved to have the encounter over with.
He was also looking at something over my head, and not me directly.