Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I grip the steering wheel like I’m trying to disintegrate it and glance at the envelope on the passenger’s seat. Bile coats the back of my throat. Even though my instincts say to keep this to myself and handle it on my own, I know that’s unhealthy. I need to lean on my friends in hard situations.
Here we go … My damp palms slide down my thighs.
“Oh, I have a dandy update for you,” I say. “Guess what I got in the mail today.”
“No clue.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “I got a letter from an attorney stating that I owe almost twenty thousand dollars because Trace, who kicked me out, keep in mind, didn’t pay his rent.” I twirl the earrings that Audrey brought me from Boston. “Then when he did leave, he left it a disaster. Broken dishwasher, ruined carpets. Apparently, he trashed the entire place.”
“How is that your problem?”
Good question. I breathe deeply to try to put out the fire burning my chest. Trace was such a bad decision, and I can’t escape him. It’s been years since I’ve seen or communicated with him at all, and he’s still throwing wrenches in my life. I’d cry if I weren’t so numb.
“Because I paid the rent a number of times, and the trash pickup was in my name, so that somehow makes me legally liable for the rest of it. Sounds unbelievable to me, but I’ll have to get an attorney, I think.” I groan, sinking into my seat. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t pay it. That’s illegal.”
I shrug. “Let us pray. But I don’t want to talk about it, and I need to go anyway. I have more immediate headaches at hand.”
“Okay, I have to go, too. I’m having dinner with my sister. She’s in town for a couple of days.”
“That’s right. Have fun with Lucia and tell her I said hi.”
“Will do. Bye, friend.”
“Bye.”
The silence wraps around me, sucking the air out of my lungs. It’s going to be torture sharing space with Gray—especially when I’m already on edge. But if I don’t deal with this asshole, I won’t have the money to deal with the other one.
Twenty thousand dollars? My stomach churns, and I shove the thought out of my mind.
“Go on,” I mutter, turning the car off and grabbing my bag. “Get this over with.”
I get out, locking up behind me, and start up the long sidewalk to the four apartments on this block. They’re more like townhomes from this angle, each with a garage and a small porch. A child plays with a puppy on one side of Gray’s home. On the other, an older man sits on a porch swing, smoking a cigar. He waves like we’re old friends, and I can’t help but smile at him in return.
Gray’s front stoop is the only one with no welcome mat or flowerpot. Seems fitting.
Blood thunders in my ears as I raise my fist to knock. I lift my chin, hiding any vulnerability that might be streaked across my features, and rap against the door. I might be anxious, but he can never know that.
After a few seconds, the door swings open, and I drag in a quick breath. Of course, he’s shirtless.
I don’t allow my gaze to drop from his eyes. “Where are the boxes?”
He steps aside, face blank, and motions for me to enter. “In the corner.”
“Great.”
I march by him as if he’s not standing in a pair of shorts and bare feet, and with his hair damp from the shower. I’d bet he dressed, or undressed, perhaps, like this just to see if it would bother me. He’ll just have to try harder if he wants a reaction out of me. I’m laser-focused on the boxes and not on his body. I wonder if that bothers him.
His apartment is cool but smells warm, like body wash and cinnamon. It’s cozier than I expected. A few nice touches—a plant, a couple of pictures, and a candle—and this place could pass as a real home.
The door slamming makes me jump. This is a lot of stimuli to process at once.
I drop my bag onto the sofa and straighten my shirt, gathering my composure. “Are there any boxes you don’t want me to open?”
“Nah.”
I roll my eyes with my back to him, trying to create a plan. The mere sight of the boxes so haphazardly tossed into the corner of the room melts my brain. He’s just lived like this for days. How?
He really is an animal.
“So just sort through them and put the stuff wherever I want to put it?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
I huff, grabbing one box on top of the stack and hauling it to the floor. Gray sits at the kitchen island with a permanent marker in his hand, signing papers for the media department. Neither of us speaks or even looks at the other.