Page 78 of Shatterproof

That’s the weird thing about getting a little too close to abruptly meeting death.

Late at night when you can’t sleep, your entire existence plays back through your mind like an action movie you didn’t ask to return to theaters for an encore showing.

Especially when you haven’t exactlylived.

It’s wild to realize I’ve somehow accomplished so much and so very little at the same time.

Travel out of this state?

Barely.

Most of it’s been for work and rarely did I leave my hotel room for anything other than the conferences or meetings.

Hell, I haven’t even gone to see my parents’ place out in Hawaii.

Fucking. Hawaii.

And family?

Okay.

Yeah.

I have one.

One that keeps growing and growing and growing no thanks to me.

Dating is hard enough for the majority of people already, but when you have a condition that makes it difficult to do things in public or complicates your ability to evenmeetnew people the shit becomes practically inconceivable.

Although…I guess…being “Cupid’s Chokehold” crazy about your best friend probably also doesn’t help.

Maybe I should just find something insane and totally out of character to do so there’s at least one gasp worthy moment in my “movie” besides being attacked from behind by a man the love of my life evidently left for dead after he interrogated him.

I wonder what that style was like.

Was it moreJason Bourneor moreThe Gray Man?

My phone dings just as my door is slamming shut.

T: Hilly LOVES the bubbles and brew evites you sent out.

T: She LOVES that it’ll be at Monte’s.

T: See. I knew you were the woman for the job.

Smiling absentmindedly occurs until Slater grunts, “Work again?”

The pale, almost lifeless blue lettering falling in my lap prompts my gaze to meet his. “No. It’s T.”

Immediate ease floods his expression and pushes me to keep talking.

“Hilda really likes the evites I sent yesterday, which is ahugerelief because I swore, she would hate them.”

“You mean like she did with your menu?”

“My firstfourmenus!” I squawk while buckling myself in. “Four, Slater.”

He lightly chortles and does the same. “I could’ve told you she wasn’t gonna go for somethin’ messy like BBQ.”

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