Page 8 of Fake Dating Daxton Hawk
“Here’s an idea.” Her voice is sharp. She steps back from the railing like she’s done with this conversation. “You’ve been glued to your phone all evening, I assume messaging some girl you like. Why don’t you getherto be your date?”
As Delphine returns to the restaurant, I blow out a breath of smoke and mutter, “Believe me, I’m trying.”
ChapterFour
Jordan
The mafia boss’s cock was long, thick, and heavy in her mouth as she sucked and listened to him moan her name.
“Boyfriend texting you again?”
I look up from my e-reader, finding my Uber driver peering back at me through the rearview mirror. Christ. It’s the same mustached driver from earlier in the evening.
“I’m reading a book.” I raise my Kindle for reference, the screen glowing like a phone in the night. We’re stuck in traffic and my phone is dead, so I thought I’d make use of the time instead of being bored.
“You look like you’re reading a good book.” The driver’s tone edges on flirtatious.
And then I realize…
I was totally caught smiling at the sex scene. Mina always teases me for having the worst poker face and tells me to never read romance books in public. Unlike her, I can’t read an explicit sex scene with a blank face. I get too excited.
Okay, so maybe there are two things I get excited about in this world: Steel West and smutty romance books. A girl needs to get her romance fix somehow, and in my experience, fictional men are far better than real ones. That’s probably why I like Steel so much.
“Oh, ah, yeah. Great book,” I tell the driver.
“I’m in need of a good book. What are you reading?”
Porn.
“Um… Harry Potter. Hey, are there any other streets we can take? Traffic isn’t even moving.”
“The GPS tells me all streets are gridlocked.”
Goddammit. My apartment is only a few blocks away but at this rate I won’t be home for hours. “You know, I’m not that far from my apartment. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Are you sure? A pretty lady like you shouldn’t—”
I step onto the sidewalk and slam the door before I hear another one of his creepy compliments. West Harlem isn’t the safest neighborhood to live in. I don’t like walking the streets alone at night, especially when I’m wearing such a revealing dress, but I keep my wits about me and stick to the main roads. When a cool breeze sweeps through the street, I have big regrets about giving Daxton his jacket back, but I refuse to hug myself for warmth because that will only make me look like easy prey.
A couple of blocks later when I’m nearly home, the number of people on the street grows dense, far more than to be considered normal. My first thought is that there’s some street festival I’m unaware of, but that scenario doesn’t fit the tense faces of everyone around me. I peer ahead, unable to see beyond anyone except for the red and blue siren lights flashing across the buildings.
The scent of smoke suddenly hits me. With each step forward, the roar of flames begins to overpower the city noises of traffic and pedestrians.
My stomach clenches into a knot.Please don’t let the fire be in my building.
I squeeze through the people, my mouth turning dry when I find my street taped off from the public and police guarding it. Ducking under the tape, I catch the attention of a middle-aged female officer.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she says. “There’s been an apartment fire. The whole building is in flames. No one is allowed beyond this point.”
“I live on this street. Which building is the fire in?”
“Number twenty-three.”
Mother fucker!
* * *
The silver lining from this inferno? At least I’m not cold anymore.
