Torque by Gillian Archer (10 ebook reader txt) 📕

“Yup. I’m fine. Just thinking about—” I glanced at the book in my hand. “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh really?” She raised an eyebrow in that infuriating way of hers. “What specifically about Romeo and Juliet? How hot Leonardo DiCaprio was in the movie?”

I tried not to roll my eyes. I didn’t get the whole Leo obsession—he seemed…soft to me. I preferred my guys have an edge or two. But I wasn’t gonna give Elaine the upper hand—I could talk about that play all day, any day. “Just how crazy it is that people trot out Romeo and Juliet like it’s an example of romance. It’s not. It’s a tragedy. They all die at the end. Not a romance. Shakespeare plays aren’t even categorized as romances. They’re comedies, histories, or tragedies. Not romance.”

“Mmmm…” Elaine murmured noncommittedly. Her eyes had glazed over as I waxed on about romance and not Leo. Finally, she shook her head and gave me a piercing look. “Anyhow, did you see the news about the upcoming budget cuts?”

Just the words budget cuts had my stomach aching. Libraries were constantly on the chopping block. We were operating on a paper-thin budget as it was. “No, what did they say?”

Elaine grinned, her piranha-like teeth sparking. Or maybe that was my imagination. “I guess because of the economy, they’re proposing at least a ten-percent cut in all areas. Maybe more. And you know what that means…”

My free hand clutched my now roiling stomach. I was the last hired.

Which meant I’d be the first fired.

I had student loans hanging over my head. Graduate school hadn’t exactly been cheap.

Oh god.

It would only be a matter of time before I was living back at home with my parents. Listening to my mom drone on and on about how I should’ve majored in accounting like her cousin’s daughter did. Moaning about how I’d wasted myself on a dead-end career.

I think I’d rather be shot.

“But all that’s weeks, if not months away.” Elaine smiled that toothy grin at me. “Plenty of time to make other arrangements.”

“Other arrangements,” I repeated weakly. “Right.”

“Hey, don’t look all doom and gloom. It’s Friday. Have any fun plans for the weekend?”

You mean aside from panic-searching for an opening somewhere in the narrowing library field? Not that I would ever say as much to Elaine. By lunchtime she’d have everyone convinced that I’d clutched her blouse and cried about the upcoming cuts.

Instead, I tried to smile, but I was pretty sure it looked just as wan as I felt. “Oh, you know, the usual. Maybe sunning by the pool, if the weather holds up.”

“Honey, it’s California—the weather always holds up.” She couldn’t have tried to sound more condescending if she’d tried.

I turned to shelve the copy of Romeo and Juliet in my hand, so I could hide my eye roll. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”

Only silence met my question, followed by the distant sound of the stairwell door closing.

I turned and found myself all alone again.

Apparently, Elaine had hightailed it out of here once she’d delivered her awesome news.

I gave into the urge and slumped down to the ground, holding my knees to my chest. Tears welled in my eyes as a sense of helplessness swept over me. I was homeless. In a couple of weeks, I’d probably be jobless as well.

Jeez Louise, this shit better not travel in threes.

Because the next blow might be the one to do me in for good.

* * *

It was suspiciously silent when I got “home” from work. Usually, Dylan was sprawled on the couch watching some annoying documentary. Today the tv was off. The living room was empty.

But it didn’t take Sherlock to figure out that Dylan was here, or had been here recently—he’d left the kitchen faucet running, for crying out loud.

“Dylan!” I shouted as I hung up my purse next to the door. “I know you’re home. Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Silence.

Aside from the gurgling water coming from the sink.

With an annoyed huff, I crossed the room and turned off the faucet. We were in a drought after all.

I hated confrontation. Hated it. But that didn’t mean I was going to let Dylan off the hook. A freaking biker had shoved a gun in my back last night. I’d done Dylan a solid and hadn’t told his brother about the situation—mostly because I didn’t know what it was yet. But I was determined to find out.

Resolved, I whirled around. Someone was standing less than a foot away from me.

I screamed.

A beat later, I clutched my chest. It was only Dylan.

Then I slapped his chest. “Do not do that! You freaked me out!”

His lips quirked as he fought the grin threatening to spread across his lips. With eyes still laughing at me, he leaned around me to turn the faucet on again. “I’m trying to defrost some steaks. I need to run water over them.”

“Oh sorry. I just saw the running water.” I shook my head. There I was, apologizing again! Not this time. “What happened yesterday? And what the heck is going on, Dyl? A freaking biker showed up and stuck a gun in my back. I was scared to death. Nathan said he was a West Coast King.”

“Right, Nathan. How much did you tell him about what’s going on?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. Because I don’t know what the hell is going on. But you’re gonna start telling me everything. Right now.”

“I know, I know. I totally owe you an explanation. I was going to cook you a steak dinner tonight to try to make up for what happened, but I got busy with a new project and forgot to get the steaks out of the freezer.”

Because that was Dylan. Lost in some project that was probably cluttering up what was supposed to be my room. But I couldn’t be too annoyed seeing how I wasn’t even paying rent.

I sighed. “I don’t need a steak dinner.” Even though after the day I’d had,