Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
If that happened, there was a chance I’d start hyperventilating. That could lead to other unhinged hysteria, and then who knew what kind of handcuffs I’d end up in at the end of that adventure?
There was also the possibility that I was having a slight midlife crisis.
I was four years away from turning forty, and yep . . . I could feel the hysteria coming on. Though, the hysteria wasn’t about my age, it was about the reason I was not in Montana this week.
Which I couldn’t focus on at the moment.
The scowly guy, who still hadn’t broken into any Beauty and the Beast Broadway songs, glanced my way. His mouth was pressed in a tight line as he was eyeing me.
Right. I was breathing pretty loudly and thinking about the ex.
“Woman.” It was the scowling guy. He leaned forward. His jacket fell open, showing a gun holstered on his hip. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? You need an ambulance or something?”
An ambulance?
I hadn’t heard him right. I couldn’t have. Leaning toward him, I hissed, “Excuse me?”
His eyelid twitched as he ran his gaze over me, lingering on my legs before dipping back up to my mouth. It jerked up to my gaze, and his scowl just doubled. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you? If so, I gotta call for an ambo.”
I didn’t know if I should be flattered at the concern, though he was not coming off like he was in the least bit concerned about me. He seemed irritated, like I was the last thing he wanted to deal with, and at that thought, I straightened in my seat, deciding to be insulted. “You think I’m going to pass out because of why? I’m breathing harshly? I’m so sorry. Did I interrupt your phone call because I was just sitting here, minding my own business? Was I not quiet enough as I was thinking about my—well, it’s none of your business what I was thinking about, but was I not quiet enough? You want me to be more silently angry? Sure. Totally. I’ll be like a statue as I’m processing my own shit here, or can I not have feelings either? Is there a certain way I’m supposed to breathe while I feel things, sir?”
A part of me was wincing at my snark, but there was a whole side of me that did not care.
I stared at him, hotly.
He glared back, but his dark eyes cooled dramatically. He’d been pissed off before, but now he was downright like ice. “If you need medical assistance, I’m obliged to provide it for you.”
Obliged?
I skewered him with a look. I had no idea how to respond to that.
“Ma’am.” The train was coming to a stop, and he stood once it did. He clipped out, “Do you need medical help?”
He took one step toward me, looming over me. That scowl hadn’t lessened or deepened. I was thinking it was permanently fixed on his face. He had resting scowling face. RSF.
“Why are you so fixated on me? Go away. Focus on someone else.” I gestured to a guy who was stretched out and sleeping on the other side of us. “He’s passed out. Why aren’t you asking him if he needs EMTs or not?”
The sleeping guy opened his eyes and lifted his gaze. His legs had been stretched out, his ankles crossed over one another, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. He looked relaxed. “Huh?” he asked now, frowning.
“Go back to sleep, Miguel.” The scowling guy jerked in his direction.
“Oh. Okay.” He closed his eyes and laid his head back down.
Great. Lovely. They knew each other.
The doors slid open. People were spilling out.
Now I was scowling, and I stood up. Lifting up my arm, I grabbed the same pole he was holding on to. “I’m fine. No. I do not need medical assistan—”
I cut myself off because he wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes were trained over my shoulder.
People were coming in, filling up the emptied spots, but suddenly a woman screamed. A guy shouted, and the scowling guy yelled right next to my ear, “Marcus Easter, stop!”
He cursed under his breath and shoved past me.
I got whiplash. He moved so fast. Twisting around, I saw a guy run off the train and toward the stairs. Scowling Hot Guy was fast behind him.
They were soon gone from eyesight, and I frowned. That was all . . . I didn’t even know what that was.
Miguel was sitting up, yawning.
I asked him, “Does that happen a lot here?”
He snorted before giving me a lopsided grin, scratching his head. “Nah. That’s just Shorty. I wonder what he did this time.”
I sat down, a little dazed. The train started again, and I groaned.
That’d been my stop.
Chapter Two
Sawyer
“Sawyer. Sweetie. I’m concerned. Why are you still in New York City? It’s been another week. I understand that you wanted a change of scenery because of the wedding that hap—but, honey, when are you coming back?”