Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“Really?” Putting the plates in place precedes shooting her another arrogant grin. “You sure it has nothing to do with a certain shop girl wanting to look under my hood and you being pissed off that she didn’t realize from the starting line that we’re together?”
Bunny’s gorgeous glare narrows in my direction just as Nolan steps back inside with two full plates. “Mutt?”
“Hm?” He hums in return during his plate balancing act.
“Don’t put anymore of The Kid’s pictures on the fridge.”
Without missing a beat my best friend asks, “What about his finger paintings?”
“Especially not his finger paintings.”
Laughter freely travels around the small space while we work in tandem to finish setting everything up.
That’s another thing I love about this whole sitch.
Shifting gears is just so goddamn easy.
Doesn’t matter that Nolan was outside and had no idea what the conversation was really about, he simply added to it. Accepted his place and went for it. Same for when Bunny wakes up in the mornings – typically last – and inserts herself into coffee conversations about customers. Or when they get into it about old jingles leaving me no choice but to win the debate by singing a classic car one.
It’s almost like we’re always on the same track.
Like we’re a team at 24 Hours of Le Mans picking up right where one stops.
We’re somehow simultaneously the drivers and the pit crew and the sponsors, all prepared to take on whatever the wild weather conditions may be for the event.
Unfortunately…I know a storm is coming.
The dark clouds.
The faint thunder in the distance.
The threat to slow down our unmistakable lead in one of the hardest races there is on the fucking planet.
We need to talk about it.
And we need to do that shit before there’s a downpour.
Once all food is in the center of the table, the three of us take our respective seats.
Rather than simply pass the plate of steaks around, Nolan goes through the effort of serving each of us, saving himself for last. He repeats the polite gesture with the grilled corn yet when he begins to do the same with the asparagus, Bunny sweetly teases, “Why all the fancy food, Mutt? That shop slut get under your skin too?”
“Knew it,” I mirthfully mumble into my beer bottle.
“This shit ain’t fancy,” my best friend argues while putting the half empty plate of vegetables back in the middle of the table. “It’s just steak.”
“Wagyu,” leaves my mouth loudly before I can think twice.
Bunny casually gestures a finger to the next object in question. “And the asparagus-”
“Which are just fancy green beans.”
“No, those are French beans,” our girl offhandedly corrects. “Asparagus are just one of the typical bougie restaurant options given at high dollar steakhouses.”
Quirking an eyebrow his direction can’t be helped. “Is that why you got Bunny that expensive wine too? Tryin’ to give her the steakhouse ambiance.”
“You shouldn’t use words you can’t spell,” she impishly pokes prior to reaching for the aforementioned beverage. “And twenty bucks for a bottle of Moscato isn’t really expensive, Kid.”
“Alright, so, I wanted us to eat fucking better.” Nolan removes the bottle out of Bunny’s possession to pour her a glass himself. “Is that a crime?”
“Calm down, Gordon Ramsey,” our woman good naturedly giggles. “We’re not about to turn this amazing meal you slaved over into a reenactment of Kitchen Nightmares.”
He playfully tips the bottle in her direction after he’s finished serving. “You wanna bang that British prick, don’t you?”
“He’s British,” she sassily snips at the same time she swipes up her glass. “Of course, I wanna bang him.”
Grumbles of disapproval from me and Nolan aren’t hard to hear around her snickers.
Another rule that needs to be established.
Don’t ever talk about fucking other people in front of us.
The thought of things that actually need to be discussed revs back to the front of my mind causing me to clear my throat and announce. “We need to talk.”
“Wow,” Bunny airily chortles between sips, “it’s not that big of a deal to have celebrity crushes, boys. Everyone does. Even celebrities themselves.”
“Not about that.” Swapping my beer for my fork occurs next. “We need to discuss how much tread is left on our tires. What warning lights are blaring about mechanical failures. How we’re gonna spend less time in the pits and more time on the roads. What’s our plan to survive the shitty ventilation of the heat at these speeds and velocity and our underprepared endurance?!” I stab the air with the utensil. “Because I’m gonna be real honest. I’ve never had to go this long or do this much or deal with these rapidly changing conditions! I want us to win but…I feel like I’m being set up to be the leg that fails this shit because my team isn’t including me in the plans!”
One blank stare is somewhat expected.