Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
“Rhy…” She clamped her mouth shut. Opened it again. “I’m really sorry—”
“Don’t be.” I put my hand on her knee, noticing her dress had ridden up on the way here. The touch of my rough finger pads against her smooth summer skin made a jolt of energy shoot up my spine. Something tightened behind my abs like a key twisting in its hole, unlocking something feral, and now I knew it wasn’t the late-night burgers.
I had it hard for her.
I withdrew my hand casually, ignoring my rocketing pulse. “Instead of being sorry, take care of your future,” I said stiffly.
“Okay, Daddy.” Dylan rolled her eyes.
“Say that again,” I groaned.
“No. I was being sarcastic. I’d rather stay an orphan.”
I laughed. “Do you want help taking Gravity up?”
“No, thanks. See you in three days.” She popped open the passenger door and rounded the car to get her daughter.
Shit. Her next shift was in three days? Why did it make me sad?
And why couldn’t I wait for the days to tick by?
DYLAN
Cal: How’s your fake fiancé?
Dylan: Being a real pain in the ass.
Cal: And Tucker?
Dylan: So far, so good. Meaning I haven’t seen him in a few days.
Cal: Be careful, Dylan, okay? It’s the same guy who bullied us in high school.
Dylan: Trust me, Dot, there’s nothing I want more than Tucker out of my life.
“Instead of wasting all that time and research on cybersecurity and flu strains, universities need to start looking into whether Nina Dobrev and Victoria Justice are the same person,” Max mumbled, perched over the alcohol rack behind the bar, watching The Vampire Diaries on his phone.
My first time back after four days, and I was finally experiencing a graveyard shift at the Alchemist. It was officially summer, and New York City had decided to kick it off with a huge Central Park event laden with multiple live shows. Other than the random tourists staggering into the bar to purchase overpriced water, we were pretty much alone.
“They’re not the same person, Max,” I chuckled, browsing through my own Instagram for-you page, eyeballs glued to reels of people traveling the world. I especially loved the ones who lived in their vans. Here I was, being a salty bitch about my sweater getting caught in my door handle, when people actually had to drive to their gym to take a shower.
“How’s Faye doing?” I asked.
“Better. Still not discharged, though. There’s a recovery time they want her to take. Four, maybe five weeks before she can come back to work. You still fine to fill in for her?”
“As long as I have childcare,” I confirmed.
“Let me know if anything changes. Well.” Max yanked out his AirPods, stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I’m heading out. Tucker will be here any minute to take over, so don’t worry. You good?”
No. I was the opposite of good. I didn’t want to see Tucker. I especially didn’t want to spend one-on-one time with him. But it wasn’t like I had a choice.
I gave Max a thumbs-up. “Sure.”
“You can go when he arrives. Place is empty anyway.”
“Roger that. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too.”
After Max left, I decided to keep busy and clean some sticky tables and the underside of the bar to pass the time. I switched from Instagram reels to Grey’s Anatomy for background noise. A part of me wanted to google premed programs in New York, but I stopped myself in time. I’d be better off sticking to this job for a few more weeks—months, if needed—before finding something suitable.
Finally, Tucker breezed into the empty bar. He wore a pair of jeans and a button-down black shirt. He was holding a donut box in his hand, a welcoming smile curving his mouth.
I slid an uncertain glance at him. “Um, hi.”
“Hey there, Dyl! What’s up?” He slid the donut box between us on the bar and flipped it open, gesturing toward a row of orange-glazed donuts.
I mentally checked the calendar. Nope. Fall was nowhere near us. The smell was overwhelming. Like I got lost in a pre-Thanksgiving Bed Bath & Beyond.
“What’s this?” I peered into the box.
“Pumpkin spice donuts. I remember they’re your favorite.” He waggled his brows.
“You’re remembering incorrectly.” I folded my arms over my chest. Why was he being so nauseatingly nice?
His beam collapsed. “But when you were pregnant, you said—”
“When I was pregnant, I used to dip pickles in peanut butter. Pregnancy cravings have nothing to do with normal taste.”
His shoulders slumped, his entire posture collapsing into a hunch. His face looked better, almost healed. Then his disappointment quickly morphed into fury, as it did when we were together. “What’s your problem?” He puffed out his chest, rounding the bar predatorily, and I nearly cowered back from the force of his sudden anger.
Tucker used to either agree to do what I wanted to make me shut up or lose it completely, slamming doors and yelling. In my warped universe, door slamming and shouting weren’t that big of a deal back then. I came from a household where my father would literally hit my brother and my mother for not answering his calls fast enough. But looking back, I couldn’t imagine tolerating that sort of treatment with Gravity in the house. She didn’t deserve to grow up thinking this was the standard. Didn’t deserve an oopsie blue bracelet of pain around her wrist.