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)
Mutt rolls his eyes in obvious irritation during his stroll over to the couch. “Fuck me for bein’ exhausted, Kid.”
“Oh now, I’m Kid again?” He huffs and steps closer to where Nolan is flopping down on the arm of the couch. “Now, you wanna use my nickname?!” There’s no pause for response. “Should we start usin’ your apparent nickname, too? Hm, Ace?”
“I prefer Mutt,” I good naturedly goad, getting a grin out of Nolan. “Ace makes him sound so much cooler than he is. Like a fighter pilot.”
“I could’ve been a fight pilot.”
“In your Top Gun fantasies only.”
“I would make a more believable one than Tom Cruise.”
“You would barely look hotter oiled up playing volleyball.”
“He would look a lot hotter,” Kipp interjects prior to reclaiming the conversation, “and more importantly, why does that asshole have a fuckin’ nickname for you?”
“He’s not an asshole,” Mutt effortlessly defends. “And you should probably show a little more respect to-”
“Your elders,” I sassily finish, receiving the smirks I hoped it would.
“To,” Nolan shoots me a playful glare, “the man who’s gonna do whatever he has to, to keep your ass out of fucking prison.”
“Is that how you know him?” Our boyfriend swiftly investigates. “Has he kept your ass out of prison?” He strains his crossed arms further. “How many times? And when?”
The sigh that leaves Nolan is so heavy it rattles the windows. “Stop roaring your fucking engine at the stoplight, Kid. I’m not street racin’.” He gives the side of his face an exhausted scrub. “You wanna fuckin’ ask if we’ve seen what’s under each other’s hoods…Just. Ask.” His frame crumples a little further in weariness. “I’m too tired and too old for these little tantrums.”
“I’m not…tantruming.”
“You might as well of just poured Kipp Brand Oil all over my fucking pants and shoes for the past few hours.”
“I wasn’t…” he shuffles his weight back and forth. “I didn’t…I…”
“You were bein’ jealous-”
“Which is kinda cute,” I quietly add.
“And petty-”
“Which can be warranted but isn’t cute,” is mumbled next.
“And so fuckin’ childish.”
“To the tenth power.”
“All because you don’t have the big boy balls it takes to ask me about shit that bothers you.”
“Have you fucked him?!” Kipp abruptly barks at the top of his lungs.
“No.”
“Have you two almost fucked?!”
“No.”
“Have you two ever-”
“No.”
“Then…how do you…” he shuffles around uncomfortably again, “know each other?”
“Garcia tends to deal with high dollar clients to help out his not so high dollar friends by allowin’ them to pay for his services with theirs.”
Referencing Garcia’s early comment is effortless, “Like discounted car parts and labor.”
“I’m labor. Not sure who parts is.” Nolan wide mouth yawns. “We go pretty far back. Like…before you could’ve ended up being swallowed far back, Kid.”
“Then why is this the first time I’ve heard about him? Or…Or…Or met him?!”
“Have I met every dude you know?”
His mouth instantly lowers yet nothing comes out.
“Exactly.” He shrugs again. “Turns out we both have shit we haven’t shared yet.”
“I don’t fucking like it.”
“I don’t fucking like it, either.” All of a sudden, Mutt’s stare shifts to me. “Just like I don’t fuckin’ like some of the new shit we learned about you this mornin’, Rabbit.” His fingers fold firmly together. “You really think McAdams paid that guy to try to assault you on that yacht, so that he could be the fuckin’ hero?”
“Yeah…” Now the uncomfortable one, I reach for the nearby pillow to wind myself around before answering. “I’ve read about other stalker cases, and it’s fairly common for them to stage a scenario that puts them in direct contact with their victim. Not always in a scenario where they get to play the hero but always one where there’s some sort of unavoidable interaction.”
“His next interaction will be with us,” Nolan practically growls.
“All of us,” Kipp stresses, pitch identical to our partner’s.
“And his ass ain’t comin’ out of it alive.”
I do my best to smile.
Believe the proclamation despite the lump of dread lingering in my throat.
Mutt stands at the same time he suggests, “How about we all go squeeze our asses into my shower, get some sleep, and have some make up sex afterwards?”
“What about openin’ the shop?” The Kid cautiously questions.
“Already put up a ‘Sorry We’re Closed For The Day’ sign.”
“And your towing services?” I curiously inquire on a suspicious head turn.
“Voicemail service that states, ‘Sorry I’m Temporarily Closed Until Further Notice’.”
“Really?” Kipp struggles not to smile. “We’re gettin’ the whole day together?”
“I think it’s more than fuckin’ needed.” He extends an open palm towards our boyfriend. “Don’t you?”
The Kid bashfully beams and joins hands while I eagerly begin to transition to my feet. However, after tossing the pillow on top of another versus back in its original spot, a tiny scrap of paper catches everyone’s attention.
“What’s that?” Mutt motions his head towards the object I’m grabbing. “Receipt?”
Unsure myself, I quickly turn it over to read the typed words in bold print.