Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I brace for him to press me on details, but he merely says, “Farren, you can’t just run away every time you get a wild hair up your butt.”
“I don’t do that.” The denial is swift because he’s so very wrong. I don’t run when I get a wild hair up my butt, I merely run when things start to get serious and overly complicated.
Rafferty’s eyes twinkle, one eyebrow cocked. “What about that time you jumped on a flight to Vegas because you were bored with your job?”
Nope. Not a wild hair up my butt. That’s when I was dating a beautifully tattooed drummer when I was twenty and he told me he loved me one night. It freaked me out and Vegas seemed like the place to go to escape it all.
“Or when you sold your car on a whim,” he says with a smirk, “to fund that music festival road trip with people you barely knew?”
Okay, there may have been a tiny wild hair waving in the wind, but that trip came on the heels of a very hot, in a nerdy type of way, engineering student I was dating, who started talking about our long-term future together. He actually asked me how many kids I wanted and well… I sort of had a tiny freakout then, as well. It just so happens that came on the heels of me meeting some cool people going on a festival road trip, and yeah… that’s how that relationship ended.
I start to say something, but Rafferty isn’t done. “And let’s not forget how you moved into that luxury apartment last year—way out of your budget—just because it had a view of the river. You lasted what, two months, before you broke the lease?”
I can’t help but grin. That was definitely an immature move and could be absolutely considered a wild hair up my butt.
“You’re exaggerating,” I drawl, my chin lifting defiantly even though he nailed it.
Rafferty’s eyes sober and his voice lowers. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I just worry about you. You leap without looking, and it’s going to catch up with you one of these days.”
Not if I keep running.
“I know,” I mutter, setting my beer down. “You’re not exactly criticizing but merely conveying a level of concern bolstered by this innate protective instinct you have, punctuated by playful bickering allowed only because of the deep bond we share.”
Rafferty snorts, shaking his head. “You and your words. You should be a politician.”
Ewww… gross. “I’m not dishonest enough.” And feeling the need to put his mind at rest, I say, “I’m not acting on a wild hair in this instance. Merely taking a tactical retreat from my rat wheel of a life.”
Rafferty’s eyes narrow slightly. “And you plan on, what… staying here?”
I beam a smile at him. “Sure. You have a spare bedroom.”
His eyebrow—the one with the scar—rises. “For how long? And you’re going to pay me rent?”
“Yes,” I drawl as if that was the most ridiculous thing for him to say. I’m no mooch. “Of course I will. I just have to find a job first.”
“You could go to college,” he grumbles, the disappointment in his voice grating on me. I’m well aware of how much I let down my family in my refusal to seek higher education.
While Rafferty is successful making millions of dollars a year, I have a brain that is just rotting away working retail or slinging drinks. I’m a near genius (my parents had my IQ tested when I was six). Apparently, I boggled my teachers with my advanced language and vocabulary skills as well as my uncanny knack for figuring out puzzles and patterns that adults couldn’t comprehend.
My entire life growing up, the expectations on me were high regarding academics and I never disappointed because things came so easily. I graduated first in my class, barely breaking a sweat, and then crushed my parents’ hearts when I decided not to go to college.
Boy did that cause some hair-raising arguments and Rafferty, thick into his hockey career, railed at me as well.
But eventually, they decided to accept my lack of ambition to get a degree and I became a fond sort of disappointment instead.
And I’m still not interested in college. “No thanks. I’m sure there are hundreds of bartending jobs. I’ll get something quick.”
I can read the frustration on Rafferty’s face. “Two weeks. Have a job by then and you can stay.”
“Easy peasy,” I chirp happily, glad that went as smoothly as it did.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” I say, my stomach growling to prove it.
Rafferty pulls out the makings of a hoagie from the refrigerator. “Want to come to the game tonight?” he asks as I watch him work. “I can snag a ticket.”
“Well, duh. There’s never a time I don’t want to see you play.”