Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Griffin shakes his head. “No. And let me start by saying I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I thought I could handle things and you would never have to know.”
He might as well have slapped me. I don’t like people hiding things from me, like they know what’s good for me better than I do, or like I’m not capable of making choices for myself. I feel lied to, which makes me feel stupid for not realizing I was being lied to, and I don’t like this feeling. Not one bit. “Apologies don’t really work when you’re doing it because you purposefully hid something from me,” I snap.
Griffin doesn’t flinch a bit, taking the verbal blow like a champ, though it’s a much more direct hit than any of our usual banter. “I went into Yesteryear to ask about the ring, remember?”
I nod because, yeah, I remember—I was there, sitting on a bench, crying my eyes out at the unfairness of the world after having been mugged. It’s not the kinda thing a girl simply forgets.
“In there, I saw two guys talking to the lady behind the register. They were asking about your ring, said it was sentimental and an accident it was there in the first place, so they wanted it back. She gave them your card and then pointed you out. That’s when I got you out of there because I had a bad feeling about those guys.” He grits his teeth, making the muscle in his jaw appear and disappear, but his eyes are vacantly staring at the coffee table like he can’t look me in the eye while confessing his sins. “And then today, it seemed too coincidental for them to be on the same sidewalk, at the same time, as you when you just as easily could’ve been home today. I think they followed you. Have you seen them anywhere else? Near your apartment or the arena or the coffee shop, anywhere you go. Think hard.”
I replay my mental tapes again, and given they stand out with their size and vibes, I pretty quickly confirm that, until today, I haven’t seen them since outside Yesteryear. If I had, I probably would’ve guessed they were athletes, likely hockey players, since that’s the world I live in, and tried to figure out what team they play on. But that hasn’t happened, so I know I haven’t seen them. I shake my head, but Griffin doesn’t look convinced.
“How would they even know where I live?” I muse, thinking through everything he’s said. “If Carolynn gave them a card, it has my website and email, that’s it. No phone number, no address. And my website lists my PO box. I’m not a total idiot, I know how to be invisible. Basic business practices coupled with being a single woman in the city. Leave no trace isn’t just for national parks, you know?” I explain sagely.
“Okay, so maybe they don’t know where you live,” Griffin echoes, making it sound like he came to that conclusion all by himself and wasn’t baby-stepped there by my awesome plan-ahead business skills. But at least I know he’s listening, because he looks on the verge of crashing out, running his fingers through his hair and his eyes bouncing around like he’s worried one of those guys might’ve followed us here and will burst through the door any second.
I’m mad at him—furious, actually—for lying, but I also care if he winds himself up into a panic attack when I’m safe. I mean, I’m sitting here in Griffin’s apartment, a place I’ve never been to, with a man who would apparently go to extreme lengths to protect me against some vague threat. It’s not the worst place I’ve ever been. That’d be in a dark closet, playing Seven Minutes in Heaven with Preston Barnes at Mary Beth Lomer’s sleepover after that charade game. He wasn’t only a sore loser but an octopus who suddenly couldn’t understand the word no, at least until I kneed him in the balls the way Dom always told me to do. Comparatively, Griffin’s couch isn’t half bad.
“If they were actually following me, why would they wait to approach when you’re with me? They could’ve intercepted me anytime today—on my way to Mad Dog’s or when I was talking to him, or while I was waiting for you at the café. There’s no reason for them to have waited to approach me until I was with someone like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he sneers, angry eyes jerking to mine.
I stare back at him like he’s an idiot because, surely, he’s not serious. Has he ever seen himself in a mirror? Waving a hand around to encompass all of him, I explain, “Big and muscly and obviously on the verge of a throwdown at a moment’s notice. Your presence turns what could’ve been a chill ‘hey, about that ring . . .’ conversation into a ‘don’t speak to her without my permission or I’ll end you’ vibe. And that doesn’t make any sense. So maybe it’s just a coincidence?”