Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
He grins back at me, his gaze eating me up as I take a sip of water, trying to control the heat rising in my cheeks. “Well, don’t you look like a snack.”
I blanch, water sputtering from my mouth and across the table setting in front of me. I do what I can to feign a cough, but it’s too late, I already have my mother’s undivided attention, and the scowl across her face is one of her best.
“Excuse me,” I say, picking up my napkin and dabbing at my lips while Knight chuckles under his breath beside me. “Wrong hole.”
Mom narrows her stare, and I swear, the woman looks as though she’s about to swallow me whole. I look away, not allowing her to continue her silent scathing. Instead, I turn my attention back to the beast beside me.
“I wasn’t expecting you to show your face tonight,” I comment. “You’re usually the first one to pull out some ridiculous excuse about why you can’t come. What happened? No damsels currently in distress?”
Knight laughs and I can practically see the jokes about pulling out and not coming on the tip of his tongue. “I tried, but Elias was there when I received the notification of my shift change. Couldn’t get out of it even if I tried.”
“I know the feeling all too well.”
“Tell me about it,” he says, just as a server sets a plate of food in front of him, and honestly, I don’t have a clue what it is. I want to call it chicken, but my god, it doesn’t smell like chicken. “This right here is why I avoid these things. No offense, but your mother wouldn’t know what a good meal is if it smacked her in the face.”
“Oh, I know,” I laugh. “She tried to serve us bull’s balls last Christmas. I had to stop for a burger on the way home.”
Knight takes his fork and starts moving food around his plate while I reach to take another sip of water, only I’m distracted by the soft buzz of my phone in my lap. I scoop it up and find a new text from Laith.
My lips press into a hard line as I swipe my finger across the screen, opening his message. I’m still pissed about last night, but sitting next to Knight right now with his arm resting on the back of my seat, I can’t seem to care about being stood up.
I roll my eyes, and for a moment, I consider not responding at all, but truth be told, if roles were reversed, he wouldn’t get moody with me. He’d simply demand that next time, I make it up to him tenfold.
A soft touch on my shoulder has me glancing up, and I find Knight’s dark gaze locked on my skin. “Something happen?” he asks with deep concern in his tone. “This looks sore.”
My gaze drops to my shoulder, and I find the bruise I’d gotten after bolting out of the morgue last night. “Oh yeah,” I say. “It’s fine. I had a slight run-in with a door at work. I can confirm, the door won.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he says. “You need to ice that.”
“I’ll get right on it,” I laugh, though he and I both know that’s not going to happen. I’ve not always been the best when it comes to taking direction, especially when it comes to caring for myself.
“So, Harper,” comes Elias’ voice a moment later, dragging my attention away from his dazzling brother. “How’s work going? Still working down in that morgue?”
He says the word morgue like it’s dirty, and as his voice sails through the room, I notice the other guests quiet down and look at me, patiently waiting for a response as though it’s any of their business. “Uhhh . . . yeah,” I say, feeling awkward. “I’m still working on my residency in forensic pathology.”
My mother’s sigh is almost comical, and sure, I’d have probably laughed if it weren’t for the other sixty or so guests listening in to her disapproval. “Oh, honey. I’m just not sure this is the right job for you. You’re dealing with dead people all day. Putting your hands—ugh. No. I really must insist, it’s not too late to take another path. You could still be a surgeon. A . . . A heart doctor perhaps.”
“A cardiothoracic surgeon?” I ask.
“Yes, darling. Exactly that. I want better for you. Something you can really excel at. Something where you can be recognized for your work.”
I shove my chair back as I abruptly stand, balling my hands into fists, trying to convince myself not to launch across the table and show her just how good I am at my job. “No, Mom. You don’t want better for me. You never have. You just want me to have a job that you can boast about to all your fancy little friends. You’re embarrassed by my career, and that’s on you, not me. But guess what? You’re not the only one embarrassed here. The way you carry on with these ridiculous dinner parties and act like you belong in this world is humiliating. You’re a broke bitch from Queens.”