Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Even if, clearly, Salvatore Costa did not want to burn down the world to be with me. He just wanted to make sure I didn’t die of sepsis.
And my needy ass was happy to let him tend to me instead of sucking it up and taking care of myself.
What can I say? It felt good to be touched. Even in such a clinical way.
I was going to let myself be that needy and pathetic because, quite frankly, I knew I didn’t have time for a man in my life. Even if I did, the prospect of having to go through the process of online dating made me a little queasy.
So this was as much action as I was going to get for a good, long time. Hell, by the time my life calmed down, maybe I would be all dried up and disinterested. So I might as well take what I could get while I could still get it.
“Pick up, Whit,” the cook called, ringing his little bell three times, making it clear I’d missed the first call. Or two.
“Right. Sorry,” I said, shaking my head as I turned to grab the plates to bring them to their table.
“You okay?” he asked when I came back with another order for a new table.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’ve been distracted tonight is all,” he said, shrugging it off.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. It’s been busy this week.” Especially because I’d picked up an extra shift.
But he wasn’t wrong.
I had been distracted.
Because we were getting close to the end of my shift, and Salvatore still hadn’t shown up.
I couldn’t set a watch by him. He seemed to operate on a different schedule each night. Sometimes he came in for what was something like a late dinner. Other times, it was for a midnight snack.
I purposely kept his booth empty all night because of that. Which was pretty pathetic of me, to be honest.
Almost as pathetic as feeling upset that he maybe just… wasn’t going to show up that night.
I mean, the man had a whole life outside of tending to my wounds. It was ridiculous to expect him to show up every single night.
Babe, it’s five minutes. I can spare five minutes each day for you.
That was what he’d said.
I guess I’d taken it to heart.
Maybe he’d run out of time to spare for me, some random woman he was paying hush money to.
Not his girlfriend.
Not even his casual hook-up buddy.
Just a no-one.
Part of his job, really.
That was all I was. And I needed to keep reminding myself of that.
Still, when I made my way out of the diner a few hours later, there was no denying the disappointment swirling through my system. Even though it had been a surprisingly good tip night. Everyone just seemed more generous than usual. Which meant I was heading home with an extra three-hundred-fifty dollars to my name.
Sure, having the money from the “Family,” as Salvatore seemed to refer to them as, helped a lot. But Wren’s education was expensive. And I wanted to have a little something stashed away for emergencies too. You never knew what life was going to throw at you.
I had no idea how I was going to be able to function working the overnight shift, then having classes just a couple hours later.
But it was possible.
If I stopped tossing and turning and fantasizing about Salvatore and passed out right when I got home from my diner shift.
Three-thirty, that was about.
That would give me, what, a solid three and a half or four hours of sleep.
After school, I could squeeze a nap in. Maybe, if I was lucky, another three and a half hours.
Six or seven hours of sleep total.
I mean, I’d survived on less.
It wasn’t ideal, but it could be done. And that was only if I did all my diner shifts on the weekdays. If I worked the weekend overnights, I wouldn’t have to worry about class on Saturday and Sunday mornings, allowing me to catch up on sleep and errands.
It could be done.
I would figure it out.
Just to ease the financial strain, to put future-me at ease.
The only flaw in the plan was a near future that included me not staying up half the night thinking about a certain silver-fox mafia guy.
And that was what was on my mind as I made my way down the hallway toward my door, slipping my key into the lock.
But this time, I felt that it wasn’t engaged.
I’m not proud to admit this, but my heart leaped right up into my throat, thinking about Salvatore “letting himself into” my apartment again. Maybe he knew he’d be running late, and decided to meet me at my apartment instead.
My mind went wild with fantasies about how that could go. Me, half-naked on the sink counter. But this time, we didn’t have the same self-control as the last time. Which would lead to no clothing and my bed and some good, sweaty fun that might finally make me less obsessed with him.