Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
And hopefully, I will feel like a new person.
A moved on person.
She squeezes me back. “Okay. Good luck.”
Finally, I get out of the car and let out a shaky breath, reading a neon sign: Bardstown Motel.
It’s a typical L-shaped motel with a black metal railing and rooms facing the parking lot, and the highway beyond. I make my way through parked trucks and cars, looking for the room number that I want. From both Poe and Callie, I know that the reason for which — whom — I came here is staying in room eleven and is in for the night. Poe asked Callie, and Callie asked Reed, who asked Ledger. I could potentially have asked Ledger myself; I even got his phone number from Callie. But I didn’t want to seem too stalker-ish and so I went the more respectful route.
And here I am.
Before I lose my courage, I raise my hand and knock at the gray door.
It’s probably me and my jangled nerves but I think my knock kinda reverberated through the entire parking lot.
It’s okay though. It’s fine.
But then I hear footsteps drawing close.
And I swear they reverberate through the whole parking lot as well.
And pulse in my body, low in my belly, making me press a palm on it.
Finally comes the click of the door, which I think goes even beyond the parking lot and my body and reaches the whole town. Making me think that the whole of Bardstown knows that I’m here.
Standing in front of him.
My ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend, wearing his favorite color.
And I know it’s his favorite color now.
I know.
I also know that he’s shocked to see me.
He’s frowning and his lips are slightly parted.
And probably adding to his surprise is me, saying, “Hi.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Which is just as well. I don’t want to stand out here and have a conversation with him where I feel so exposed so I add, “Can I come in?”
His frown only grows. “What —”
I don’t give him time to respond and simply bulldoze my way in. And the fact that he’s shocked works in my favor because he steps back and lets me.
His room is what I’d imagine a typical motel room to look like. Gray walls, gray sheets on a queen-sized bed and gray drapes on the windows. A dresser on one side of the bed, and a couple of chairs on the other. Plus a closet and a door left ajar, leading to the bathroom.
Back when he used to live at the manor, I never went into his bedroom. Except for when I went to his bedroom to vandalize it. And even though his room was right across from mine, and our windows looked into each other’s spaces, I always made sure to never ever look.
And now that I know why I never looked, I look at everything in here.
I notice that he has his clothes draped over the chairs, and his shoes strewn about right next to them. There are a few boxes of pizza on the table, along with a few soda cans. A duffel bag right next to the closet, and his keys and a black leather wallet on the dresser.
He’s sort of like me in the mess department.
Not really surprising given we have other things in common as well.
“What the fuck —”
I spin around at his voice. “Are these your office clothes?”
He snaps his mouth shut and I’m not going to lie, I’m loving that.
He loves interrupting me, doesn’t he? So now it’s his turn.
Although I am curious to know as well.
In all the time I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a button-down shirt. He usually wears a t-shirt or a soccer jersey or one of those loose workout vests. The latter ones I’ve always hated the most because they’re very sexy, exposing his bulging biceps and sleek and cut obliques. But now that I’m seeing him in a dress shirt, I have to say that maybe a shirt is what I hate the most.
Because the way the cotton fabric clings to his broad shoulders and his chest is beyond sexy.
It’s criminal.
His top few buttons are open, exposing a large patch of his clavicles and that sculpted chest, and his sleeves are folded up to his elbows, showing off his corded forearms. Not to mention, the light color highlights how summery his skin is.
How even though he’s wearing something as civilized and respectable as a dress shirt, he’s anything but.
But then again, no one could ever mistake him for a young boardroom mogul.
Not with his face still black and blue.
He’s actually gotten a few new bruises as well; we’re gonna talk about that in a second.
When I’m done looking him over, I go back to his face.
And yup, he’s still frowning.
Although his confusion has cleared and it looks like he’s waiting for my cues — good — with his hands shoved down in his pockets and his reddish-brown eyes pinned on me.