Read Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption for Free Online

tells me it’s something serious. At least in her world it is.
    In reality, she’s probably late for a deadline on some story about a poor schmuck who thought she wanted a quote for honorable reasons as opposed to circulation numbers.
    Therefore, the only logical thing for me to do is fuck with her.
    I take a few quiet steps in her direction, and when I’m an arm’s length away, I tap her on the shoulder.
    “Whatcha doing there, Green?”
    A blur of brown hair smacks me in the face, the iPhone flies through the air, and before I can laugh at the alarmed expression she’s wearing, the woman decks me. Right in the fucking lip. Like she’s on the set of a Bruce Lee movie or some shit.
    “Ow! Fuck!”
    I bend over and cover my face in case blood is about to splatter the sidewalk. It doesn’t but I can taste iron which means she broke the fucking skin.
    Damn, she’s got a right hook on her.
    Someone explain to me why I find that shit sexy.
    I stand up straight again. No way I’m giving her the satisfaction of knowing it hurts like hell. Green’s eyes are wide and horrified. When she sees I’m fine, they turn to relieved and then she realizes it’s me.
    Now I’m rewarded with the infamous bitch face.
    Nice.
    Green backs away, slow like, and wipes her hands against her outfit to regain her composure.
    Because I’m the one with cooties here.
    “What the hell is wrong with you?” Her brow creases and her eyes are angry.
    “Me? What the—”
    “Sneaking up on someone like that.” She looks around on the ground, for her phone, I’m assuming.
    “You just—”
    “You scared the shit out me, Stiles.” She finds it and bends over to pick it up. That tight ass of hers is flaunting itself. She catches me staring when she’s up straight again.
    Damned tight asses.
    “I’m reporting you.” She points a finger at me and stomps off. The clickity-clacking of her shoes echoes throughout the area.
    “Reporting me? I should fucking report your ass for assault.”
    Green spins. “Assault?” She tilts her head slightly so she can hear me better. She’s practically amused for Christ’s sake.
    “That’s right. Men are assaulted by women every day,” I inform little miss crazy pants. “They don’t make a complaint necessarily because it might somehow jeopardize their manhood. In this case, I’m glad to make an exception.”
    Green’s mouth falls open and her eyes begin to narrow. She stands there, staring at me like that for an eternity before she decides something and shakes her head.
    She turns to go again, then spins back to face me one more time. She’s about to say something, and it looks to be a doozy, except something catches her eyes behind me, and she points.
    “Who is that?”
    “Who is what?” I turn to see where she’s pointing.
    “Who is that? ” She takes me by the arm and pushes me in the direction she’s talking about and points more directly this time. Just as the someone pulls themselves behind a tree, I catch a glimpse of them. I can’t say I get a good look at the person, they’ve got a hoodie pulled over their face, but I know who it is.
    “Shhhhhit.”
    I’m calling my therapist out on the whole breathing bullshit next time I see her because it is definitely not working right now.
    “Do you know that person?” Green presses.
    “Unfortunately,” I tell her. Without thinking, I tug her along by the wrist until we’re around the corner where my one-time blind date turned stalker can’t see us.
    Green, of course, slows me down by walking forward but looking backward.
    “Who is he?”
    “She,” I correct.
    “What?”
    “It’s a she, Green. He’s a she .”
    We stop and I shove Green against the cold concrete, then lean across her to peek around the corner.
    “Well then, who is she ?” she whispers as I check to see if my friendly neighborhood stalker is still lurking. Not that I can concentrate very well with Green breathing against my neck like that.
    It’s not that