Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
The bell above the door rang when I walked inside, and I flashed the cashier a nervous smile. “Hi, I’m here to pick up a dry-cleaning order for Dempsey Tate. He’s meeting me, but I was hoping you could grab it now.”
I had expected her to balk at the idea of handing over his clothes to someone without the claim slip, but she just nodded and walked toward a rack of plastic covered clothes. I could’ve been a stalker with a fetish for football players for all she knew, but I wasn’t going to lecture her about maintaining Dempsey’s privacy when she was doing what I wanted. Although I would probably suggest that he switch dry cleaners after we left.
It didn’t take her long to find his order. Moving it to the small rack near the register, she tugged the slip from the top and looked at the total. “That’ll be twenty-six dollars and nineteen cents.”
I gulped as my glance slid toward the shirt and pants hanging next to me. I had entire outfits that cost half that much but considering how expensive the suit he’d changed into looked, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the price to have his casual clothes cleaned. The man lived in a different world than I did, which was why his joke about us getting married had been so darn hilarious, even though he’d tried to play it off as though he was being serious with his questions about what kind of wedding I wanted.
“Um, is there any chance I could split the charge across two cards please?”
She quirked a brow and heaved a deep sigh. “You sure you want to be paying for this guy’s cleaning if you can’t afford less than thirty bucks?”
“Never mind,” I mumbled, not wanting to get into a whole explanation of what had happened when Dempsey could show up any minute. Yanking my credit card from my wallet, I slid it across the counter. “Charge it to this one.”
Just after she swiped the card and was handing it back to me, the bell above the door chimed. Proving that nothing could go right when I was around the hot football player that I hadn’t been able to get off my mind all night, he walked up as she rolled her eyes and said, “I guess you were right to want to split the cost between two cards because this one was declined.”
“Crap, sorry.” I pulled out a ten and a five before starting to dig through my coin purse, hoping there was enough change in there to cover the difference. “Let me pay in cash instead.”
“That won’t be necessary.” My cheeks were beet red as Dempsey whipped out his wallet and handed her a platinum Amex. “Charge it to this.”
I lowered my head to stare at my feet while he took care of the bill, not saying a word as I fought to keep my tears at bay as I tucked my cash back into my purse. After signing for the transaction, he put the card and receipt back in his wallet, yanked the clean clothes from the rack, and guided me out of the store by placing his hand on my lower back.
“It looks as though I owe you another apology,” I whispered when the door shut with a jangle behind us. “I’m not sure why my card was declined. I just checked the available balance on it this morning, so I must have forgotten something that was due to be charged today. I swear I’ll pay you back.”
I mentally tacked a “somehow” onto the end of that sentence instead of saying it aloud since I didn’t want to embarrass myself any more than I already had.
“I don’t give a fuck about the money, Skye,” he grunted, gliding his palm around my side to cup my elbow. “Or the damn clothes.”
“Then why did we even come here?” I cried, the tears finally spilling onto my cheeks.
“Shit, fuck, don’t cry.” His expression turned frantic as he dragged me down the sidewalk toward a black Lincoln Navigator parallel parked a few cars down. After ushering me into the passenger seat, he tossed the dry-cleaning bag into the back seat and hurried around to the other side of the vehicle.
Once inside, he turned toward me and interlaced our fingers, tugging my hands onto his lap and stroking his thumb across my palm. “I am so fucking sorry.”
I took a shuddering breath and pulled myself together enough to ask, “Why are you apologizing? None of this was your fault. I’m the one who spilled coffee all over you and then embarrassed both of us by offering to pay for your dry cleaning when I couldn’t afford it. If anyone needs to ask for forgiveness here, it’s me. Definitely not you.”
“Except you never would’ve been in that position if I hadn’t latched onto your offer as an excuse to see you again,” he explained with a sigh.