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I’m debating getting a group of guys together tonight to ride by the chop shop to look for that fucker again when my phone dings with a text message.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be after how persistent she was last night.
Her text says:Hi, Mr. Perry. Thank you for your help last night coming to my rescue and getting all of my things back. I’m going to take your advice and look for a roommate.
My fingers hesitate on the screen, trying to decide if I should respond and, if so, what the fuck to say to put an end to this shit. I decide to go with:Great. Take care.
Short, sweet, to the point. The conversation is over.
I would never admit to a soul how long I sat and stared at the damn screen, waiting for her response.
There wasn’t one. Not even three dots appeared as if she was considering one.
And while I was relieved, a part of me, the long hard one, was really fucking disappointed.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Holly
Idecided not to spend Lyla’s twenty dollars on batteries.
Instead, after I sent the text message to keep him hanging last night, I go to the nearest lingerie store on Sunday, looking for something to break the biker’s restraint.
The perfect outfit was on a mannequin in the window, so all I had to do was find the rack and my size.
As I approach the register, the lady behind it has her back to me as she yells into her cell phone, “Screw you, asshole! I hope you rot in hell with her!” before her finger jabs the button to end the call with such ferocity that I’m surprised the glass didn’t break.
When she turns around and spots me, her watery eyes widen. Gently setting her phone down on the counter at the same time I put down the outfit, she smiles sweetly and says, “I’m so sorry about that.”
“No apology necessary.”
“It was unprofessional. I should’ve waited until I was off work, but I couldn’t.” She picks up my outfit and grins. “Nice choice. Your boyfriend will freakin’ love it.”
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” I blurt out, my cheeks warming.
The girl studies me for several seconds, then sniffs as she scans the price tag. “It’s none of my business.”
“I’m not having an affair or anything,” I blurt out since I’m guessing that’s what her call was about. “He’s not married. He’s a widower, actually.”
“Oh. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. Guess I just think everyone cheats since my boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – was screwing around behind my back.”
“I’m really sorry. Men suck.”
“Yes, they do. I know I’ll be better off without him. What pisses me off the most is that since the apartment is only in his name, I now have to choose between being homeless or spending my savings on a hotel. I’ll be damned if I sleep in that apartment ever again.”
“I need a roommate!” I interject. Okay, so I can practically hear Lyla, even her father, telling me I don’t know this girl, this clerk working in a sex shop. She could be a thief like Joe, sure, but I have a good feeling about this. Fate led me to this store today for a reason.
The girl looks my age or maybe at most a year or two older. She tilts her head as she stares at me. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I have a two-bedroom town house that I live in alone. I had a horrible date Friday. The guy made me drive, left me in the middle of nowhere, and stole my car, phone, and purse. My best friend is still in college up in New York, so I had no one to call.”
“That sounds even worse than the cheating asshole I’m dealing with now.”
Shrugging, I tell her, “It sucked at the time, but my friend’s dad came and picked me up and even got my car and purse back yesterday.”
“Wow. Is he the one you’re buying this for?” she asks with a grin.
I wet my lips, trying to decide if I should lie or be honest. “Yes. He’s not married, and he’s a hot biker. My friend doesn’t know. I’m a horrible person, right?”
