Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“But what if I’m already there?” He smirks. I think he’s teasing me. Is he, though? More importantly, do I want him to be?
“Do you like pasta? I have leftover spaghetti with meat sauce.” I totally change the subject as I head toward the kitchen. I don’t need to turn around to know Bam is on my heels. I can feel him. “The noodles are whole grain, but I think the sauce covers up the taste that some find odd.”
“I’m good with anything.” His eyes flick around the kitchen.
“It’s kinda old school, I know. I can’t bring myself to take down some of the weird things my grams hung around here.”
“The giant fork and spoon are very retro.”
“They’re almost as tall as me,” I joke. “I bet if we removed them from their wall, there’d be an outline.” I snort a laugh.
My phone starts to chime, my alert going off.
“You need to get that?” Bam asks when I glance at it but put it back down on the counter.
“I’m getting it.” I walk over to the fridge, opening it to pull out the leftover pasta and one of my insulin pens. “I think she’s mad I had the chocolate cake.”
Bam takes the Tupperware container from me, setting it down on the counter before reaching for the injector in my hand.
“What is this?” He turns it over. “Insulin? You’re diabetic?”
“Yeah.” I take it back from him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His expression morphs to anger. “You let me get you chocolate cake.”
“I did.” I pop the cap and lift my shirt to inject it into my stomach.
“Josie—”
“See, this is why I don’t tell people. I’m back to Josie. What about rebel?” I don’t want people treating me differently. As soon as someone finds out, that’s exactly what they tend to do. They start handling me with kid gloves or telling me I can’t or shouldn’t do certain things.
“Not going to treat you differently.” Bam runs his fingers through his hair, making it messier, which only makes it hotter. How does he do that? “I’m your assistant. I should know these things.” He pulls out his phone.
“Are you googling diabetes?”
“Maybe.”
“Really?” I study him. He really is worried. Maybe it’s not the worst to be treated differently if it’s in a caring way.
“Yeah, I am.” The determination in his tone has me letting it go. It’s hard to be irritated with someone when all they are doing is trying to look out for you.
“Okay fine, but sit.” I point to one of the chairs at the small table pushed against the wall in the kitchen. Bam does as I order, dropping down in the chair. I don’t fight the smile that takes over my face while I fix us both a plate and grab him a soda and myself a water.
I drop down across from him with a few of my notebooks, flipping them open while answering a few of Bam’s questions about diabetes.
“You know, I only have the names of people I’ve noticed that are missing. There could be more,” I tell Bam, flipping a couple of pages.
“And not everyone is going to be quick to report a person missing around here.”
I nod in agreement. “But their school will still mark those absences.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“We need to get into the school system and see. I’ll do my school, and can you do yours?” That will be a good start.
“We’ll do them together.” My fork pauses, almost to my mouth.
“Like you’re going to come to my school?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I debate this. “One of us could distract a teacher while the other gets the information.”
“We could do it that way.”
“You don’t have to knock people’s heads together to get information.”
“You say that now until you can’t get it.”
“Fair point.” I might be okay with it if push comes to shove. “Let’s try my way first.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll stay here tonight, and then we’ll hit your school first.”
“Okay, then—” I pause. “Did you say you’re going to stay here?”
“I guess I could come back in the morning.” He shrugs.
“Which do you think would be better?”
“If I stay,” he says without hesitation.
“Okay,” I agree. His brows lift. I don’t think he thought I was going to agree so easily, but this house is lonely. I know he lives alone too.
“Okay? That easy?”
“Yep.” I shove a giant bite into my mouth.
I know I shouldn’t get used to having Bam around, but what’s the harm in one night?
Chapter Seven
BAM
The whole grain spaghetti had a weird feel in my mouth, but after the first few bites, I got used to it. “What about this pasta made with chickpeas? You ever have that?”
One of the internet sites suggested it as an alternative.
“Too expensive. I can buy three boxes of the whole grain that will make twelve servings for as much as one serving of those wheat alternative pastas. Besides, so long as I don’t have much more than this”—she tips her plate toward me—“I’m good. I’ve been diabetic since I was born, so I know what my body can take.”