Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“I take it you’ve gotten that speech a couple times, huh?”
I nod. “From the sheriff. And the mayor. And Earl. And Harold Metcalf.”
“Is that all?” Clay asks with a laugh.
My smile is wry. “Not even close.”
He leans a hip into the bar. “No, I’m not going to give you the same old sad speech. And I wasn’t going to, even before.”
“That’s good news,” I answer with a little smile. “Because I’m not so sure I should take advice from a mob boss.”
“Mob boss?” His laugh is hearty and happy and warms my body from my head to my toes. “Eileen Martin needs to stop spreading those shit rumors.”
“So, this bar is just a bar, then? Not a cover for your racketeering operations?”
“It’s just a bar. And I’m just a man with zero ties to the mob.”
“Man…” I pause and feign a frown. “That’s a bit of a letdown.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, Miss Cheater Catcher, but your whole operation is kind of hard to live up to,” he says, his words one hundred percent amused. “But now that we’re back to the topic at hand, how did you end up doing it in the first place?”
“How did I end up catching cheaters? How else?” I shrug. “The internet.”
“The internet?” His laugh is incredulous, and it matches the curious quirk of his brow. “Please explain.”
“It’s hard to explain something that happened in the most random of ways.” I lean back on my barstool and tuck some of my curls behind my ear. “I was in a few local online groups for towns nearby. Mostly for my grandmother, to keep an eye out for upcoming flea markets and garage sales. And one day, this poor woman from Molene posted about how she was suspicious that her husband was cheating on her and didn’t know what to do. She was devastated, clearly, and I don’t know…” I pause and fiddle with the stem of my wineglass. “I just felt awful for her. The post was flooded with comments, but none of them helped her. If anything, people’s opinions probably made her more on edge. So, I sent her a private message, and, I guess the rest is history.”
Truthfully, none of this was planned. It just happened. Once I helped that woman, another woman messaged me, and it spiraled into me being the woman from Red Bridge who caught cheaters.
“Look, I think what you’re doing is important and courageous. Men are shit a whole hell of a lot of the time, and if you can help some lady see the light about hers, I’m down with it.”
“Oh, man.” A laugh bubbles up from my lungs. “Are you telling me that men are dogs in your own special bark?”
He grins. “It’s hormonal. Some of us are just bred and trained, you know?”
“House-trained, huh? To do what? Not piss on your pretty coworker or neighbor or random stranger’s vagina while your wife is at home with the kids?”
He grimaces and chortles at the same time. “Fuck, that’s an image.”
“It’s also incredibly realistic.” I grin as I take a sip from my wine. “I’ve single-handedly caught forty cheaters since I started, and I’ve only been working in the towns around us. The freaking population isn’t that big, for crying out loud!”
“Then your service is paid.”
“Ah-ah,” I tsk. “No, it’s not. There are more. I can do more.”
“Josie. You’re going to get hurt.” Clay leans into the bar, his hands splayed out to the sides and his built shoulders flexing. His voice is unbelievably soft. To be honest, it’s a miracle I can hear him over the crowded bar noise around us. “That man wanted to hurt you, and I can tell you from watchin’, he’s not the first. They get an inkling of thinking they’re going to get a taste of you and then get humiliated instead. I’m not saying they don’t deserve it, okay? They do. But some of them don’t have a lick of sense or an ounce of manners, and if you keep it up, someone is going to do something to you I can’t stand for.”
For the first time tonight, a very real fear of what Drew could have done to me if Clay hadn’t been there to step in washes over me. I don’t want to stop, but…Clay might be right that I should.
There’s a part of me that will feel guilty if I stop. It’s scary how many women have asked me to help them find out if their boyfriend or husband is running around on them. Honestly, the requests have become more than I can even technically handle. And it’s all been by word of mouth, which makes it feel even worse to cut it off at the knees.
I sink my head into my hands and push the mountain of my curly hair back when it falls forward. By the time I look up, Clay is pouring a shot of vodka and setting it on the bar in front of me and then doing the same in another glass right in front of himself.