Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
And if he wanted to risk his life getting kidnapped by hanging around the rest of us plebs, I sure hoped his manager had access to his bank account for ransom money, because I wasn’t going to risk my life saving him from a hostage situation. He’d been alive longer than me. I had a lot left to live for.
I told him that too, which made him laugh. “Nah, nobody ever recognizes me,” he’d claimed.
“So, do you have a list or are you just picking up random stuff along the way?” I asked him later on as I pulled out a full-sized cart at the entrance to the store. Zac had teased me about my shitty parking job the entire walk inside.
He was busy grabbing a half-sized one with two baskets, a small one at the top and a bigger one at the bottom. He winked at me. “No list. It’ll all come to me.”
“Uh-huh.” Because that always worked out. I was playing with fire coming without eating something beforehand.
Hearing the sarcasm in my voice, that nearly thin mouth drawled up into a smirk. “I got this, kiddo. Whatcha gettin’?”
I pushed my cart toward the produce first like I always did. “I’ve got a pretty big list.” Turning over my shoulder, I held up my phone to show him my notes app and watched his eyes widen.
He pushed his cart forward to walk beside me. “The last person I knew who used that many groceries was a two-hundred-and-eighty-pound defensive end.”
“I don’t eat out much, and someone is always dropping by and eating at my house.”
He looked at me. “Who?”
I shrugged as I started grabbing celery, falling right into that comfortable trap of I-know-you-and-I-feel-comfortable-with-you-so-I’m-going-to-joke-with-you. He didn’t need to know I was talking about Deepa. “People.”
It took a second for Zac to snicker, but he did as he ditched his cart and came over, picking a bag of baby carrots I hoped he had a plan for so that they wouldn’t go bad.
I waited until he stood beside me, picking up avocados and testing how hard they were, to gently ask, “So… can I ask you about…” I turned to make sure no one was standing close. There wasn’t. “How things went in San Diego, or would you rather not talk about it?”
I could feel the surprise coming off him. It only lasted about a second, but it was there, and then it was gone. “You can ask, darlin’. Nobody else ever checks.” He lowered his voice. “It went all right. Another guy was there too, but I didn’t get a good feelin’ about it. I’m not expectin’ a thing.”
Those motherfuckers. I hoped they lost every game this season. I peeked at his face, but he caught me, and I forced a smile. “That stinks. San Diego is expensive to live in anyway.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I didn’t really like the way he ticked his head to the side. “I still got some time.”
Not much, I’m sure we both knew, but neither one of us admitted it. The season was going to start in no time.
I wasn’t surprised he went straight into changing the subject back in my direction. “You have a good day at work?”
“I only thought about quitting twice. That’s about as good as it gets for me now,” I admitted, setting four avocados into the cotton bags I used for my produce.
He leaned over and plucked the bag from my hand, taking out two and setting them bare into his cart. “What’s goin’ on with your boss again?”
I stared at him, leaned over just like he had, grabbed one back, and said, “Let me show you how to pick them.”
So I showed him how to pick them, pointing at the nipple and telling him all about my paper bag trick to get them to ripen. Once he’d gotten three of his own that were just as good as the ones I’d found, I answered his question about my bosses.
“They’re new, three of them. They bought the gym I work at, but two of them are basically silent partners. The other one is just an asshole, but he’s like that with everyone, so it makes me feel a little better that it isn’t just me. I still pretty much hate his guts.”
“Don’t you make enough money off your WatchTube channel?”
I glanced at him as we pushed our carts toward the onions, but I was the only one who grabbed one. “I do. Now. I have for the last two years, but before, it fluctuated too much, and I didn’t want to quit until I knew for sure I could keep making a living off my sponsors and ad money,” I explained. There was still so much other stuff I hadn’t told him about that my gut knew was going to come up eventually. “Some other stuff happened right around then, but it’s complicated and a long story. I’ll tell you about it some other time. Anyway, I want to quit now, but my friend Deepa that you met—”