Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
“Of course I did.”
I saw how tense he looked, but that made no sense. “Why?”
“Why what?”
I squinted at him.
“Why would I come check on you?”
“Yes, Dixon,” I said, drawing out his name. “Why would you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Oh dear God. We would be caught in this circle forever. “Just answer the question, would you, please? It’s annoying as hell.”
“I came because you got shot, idiot.”
I scowled that time. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said sarcastically. “What could it be?”
“I have no idea.”
“I needed to see you.”
“You could have just called.”
“No, I couldn’t have. I needed to see you for myself.”
But truly, that made no sense. And while I was trying to wrap my brain around that, I couldn’t stop staring. The man was really just so pretty.
Taller than me, broader, more muscular, he was a swimmer just like I was. We had swum on the same team in college; it was how we met.
He was not the kind of man you noticed right away; he grew on you instead. It took hours of listening to his low husky voice, days of noticing the way his lip turned up in the corner when he smiled, and months of having the hooded gaze leveled on you for the slow heat to build to recognition that yes, you were smitten. When I was eighteen, it had taken me an entire semester to realize that it wasn’t air I needed—it was Dixon Bain.
He was sexy and hot, and had always been breathtaking.
Ten years looked good on him. He had laugh lines now, his copper-colored hair was cropped short, and the eyebrows, dark and expressive, were no longer hidden under heavy bangs. I used to push his hair out of his face to trace down the long nose, the full lips, so I could see him, kiss him.
There had been more-beautiful-than-him men in my bed over the years, but never one as sensual or one I loved quite so hard.
“Evan.”
“Sorry, tell me why you didn’t just call?”
“Because I wasn’t sure if you’d talk to me or not.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugged broad shoulders.
“You don’t need a reason to call me. You can just call.”
“I thought I did.”
I smiled at him. “’Cause you’re an idiot.”
“This is not news,” he grumbled, reaching for my hand, and I let him take it.
“You look good.”
“I wish I could return the compliment,” he replied, taking a deep breath in as he leaned on the bed. “You look like shit.”
I cracked a grin. “Nice.”
He squeezed my hand gently. “So I don’t see anyone around.”
“Meaning?”
“Is there a guy in the picture?”
“Not right now.”
“Why not?”
“You know me—” I grinned lazily. “—I’m difficult.”
“You just want to save the world, is all.”
“Yeah, well, that’s really annoying to most people.”
“When did the last guy bail?”
“He didn’t bail. The relationship was called on account of time. He wanted more of mine, and I couldn’t give that to him.”
“You always did suck at time management.”
There was no arguing that point. “So you just pop back into town after ten years to catch up?”
“Again, you got hurt. I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
He let my hand go and raked his fingers through his thick hair. “Because all the things I thought were right were wrong.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“No, I know.” He sighed deeply. “But one thing is for sure.”
“What?”
He leaned back in the chair, his hands locked behind his neck as he studied me. “You would not be in the hospital right now if you were with me.”
“Oh no?”
He shook his head. “No. This is the result of no one keeping track of you.”
“Uh-huh.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You disagree?”
“Please, Dix, the guy that did this is a fuckin’ psychopath. There was no way anyone could’ve protected me from this.”
He nodded. “Forgive me if I disagree and call bullshit.”
I let out a quick breath.
“I would have kept a better watch over you after he threatened you the first time with the fuckin’ gun,” he said pointedly.
“How’d you know about the gun?” I asked, because the man who had shot me, Andrew—Drew—Sims, had in fact made more than one trip to the shelter to threaten me. He did not like the fact that I spent a lot of time talking to the kids, boys and girls ages fourteen to seventeen, who he’d strung out on drugs.
First, he befriended them, then he got them hooked on drugs, and finally, when he was sure he had them good and addicted, he had them turn tricks for him. He was the biggest piece of lowlife scum I knew, and I never missed an opportunity to screw with him. And because I was seen as doing the community a service, the police in downtown Chicago checked on me, and when I said I was worried, they would go mess with him for no other reason than my word. The fact that he was a pimp wasn’t the problem; the fact that he preyed on children was. Apparently, he finally had enough. It sucked for him that I lived through his attempt on my life, because now, with everything else he had done, being a repeat offender and all, it was life behind bars for Mr. Sims.