Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
What the hell? Why?
Sasha: If it’s a booty call, you shouldn’t take him to your house. Who is he?
Jilly: He’s not a booty call or anything else. He’s an old friend who came to check on me. That is all. No one will run any background checks or needs to know his name. And it’s not a drought!
Sheesh. She put her phone down with a groan. How was this her life?
Seriously.
2
Margaret was such an . . . such an old bat!
Jilly dragged herself along the footpath.
Yeah, she knew that walking home at this time of night wasn’t a great idea, but Margaret had kept her back for an extra two hours today. Then she’d had to go to the grocery store. Finally, the bus had broken down on the way home and it had been a long wait until the next one.
So now she was getting home at nine-thirty on a Wednesday night . . . awesome.
Getting up tomorrow was going to be so much fun. Not.
It was hot and humid. And she felt disgustingly sticky.
With a groan, she heaved the bag of groceries up higher into her arms. Why she bothered, she didn’t know. Everything was probably ruined.
As she grew close to her front stoop, the smell of smoke hit her. That was weird. She came to a sudden stop as she saw someone step out of the shadows. With a yelp, she dropped the bag and everything scattered.
Except for the can of rice pudding that landed right on her toe.
With a cry of pain, Jilly grabbed her foot and hopped around.
“Are you all right?” someone asked as he put out his cigarette.
“Stay away from me!” she yelled. “If you come close, I’ll scream!”
“You’re already screaming,” the man pointed out.
“Yeah, well, you’d scream too if a can of rice pudding landed on your foot.”
“Canned rice pudding? Really?”
“Are you judging me? Seriously? You’re lurking around my doorstep, sneaking up on me, causing me to drop my groceries and break my toe, and you’re judging me for my rice pudding addiction?”
“I didn’t realize it was an addiction,” he told her. “Odd thing to be addicted to.”
Great. More judgment.
“You’re not a very nice robber, you know. Picking on my rice pudding addiction and making me drop cans on my foot.” Jilly tested whether she could put weight on her foot. “What if my toe is broken? What then?”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be this irritated. But this was really too much on top of the day she’d had.
First, Margaret kept her late, then the bus broke down, both her groceries and her body were overheated, now she was being robbed by someone judging her food choices.
How dare he?
“Then I better get you to a doctor,” he said.
“Like I’d go anywhere with you. You’re trying to rob me.”
“Actually, I was trying to figure out what was wrong with your security light. But I’ve discovered the problem—there’s no lightbulb.”
Why would a robber be interested in her security light?
“I thought that would be a good thing for you. Makes being a thief easier, right? Well, newsflash, I don’t have much to steal. There might have been some rice pudding if you didn’t make me drop it.”
Where had that can gone? That was her dinner!
And ouch, her foot was really throbbing.
The rest of the groceries were likely already ruined, but not even a hot, humid New Orleans night could ruin canned rice pudding.
It was indestructible.
Ask her foot.
Current score was Rice Pudding: 1; Jilly’s foot: 0.
“I’m not here to rob you.” He sounded impatient, which was also rude. He was trying her patience, not the other way around.
Then his words hit her.
“You’re not?” She swallowed, taking a step back. He was an awfully strange thief, standing here talking to her about security.
Which might mean that he really wasn’t here to steal from her. Perhaps he had a more nefarious purpose.
She took another step back, fear flooding her.
Good one, Jilly.
You weren’t afraid until now? Idiot.
“Get . . . get away from me, you cad!”
“Cad? That’s a different one. I haven’t been called that before. I’m not here to harm you. Unless it’s to put you over my knee for walking around at night on your own. Or for not having a bulb in your security light. Or for not screaming for help the instant you noticed a man standing on your stoop.”
Oh, screaming for help.
Good idea.
Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Scream. Scream for Scott. Or Dan.
Except Scott was working tonight. And Dan slept like the dead.
As she took in a deep breath, though, the man moved. A large hand was placed over her mouth. Fear flooded her as she breathed through her nose, getting a hit of his scent.
And whoa . . . what a scent. It was a mix of smokiness and sandalwood. Which might sound odd, but it worked for her.