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James Freaking Bond
MEGAN
Oh. My. God!
FORREST HAD a gun under his pillow. He. Has. Gun. A freaking gun.
He was sleeping with a gun under his pillow like James fucking Bond! Was he a spy? Or was his life in danger that he had to keep a gun with him? My body was still trembling at the thought that I didn’t know him at all.
I cared about him, but I couldn’t be with a man who spied or killed people. He was dangerous, or his life could be in constant danger. That was probably why he was using an alias—Oh god! Was he an undercover agent and messed up with dangerous people like his father? He probably sold drugs or guns for a living. Oh, my God! The gun under his pillow, his secret identity, the penthouse as his underground lair, his job as a bartender.
His father wouldn’t hunt him down in the first place if he didn’t do something wrong. Whatever he told me, perhaps he was making it all up.
“Meg?” Camila drilled me a scrutinizing stare a
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