Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t playing with him.”
“He was really masculine,” she decides to finish, apparently incapable of finding another word. “Oh, and disciplined!” she then adds, coming up with it. “I bet he wakes up at the same time every single day. I bet he has a workout regimen and … drinks shakes …”
“Why are you obsessing over that guy?”
“What guy?” she asks, confused suddenly, then sits up at once to pluck the cherry out of my ice cream and pop it in her mouth.
“Juni-cat, he’s the big bag a’ crazy who tried to get me fired,” I remind her, blinking, then wonder if I ever connected the dots for her in the first place. Conversations on our nights out are always a blur. “He sprayed me with gasoline like it was a joke.”
“I’d like him to spray me with something,” she hums, closing her eyes as she chews the cherry like it’s making love to her.
I huff, annoyed, then slide off the booth and head up to the counter. “Hey, Angie.” I flag down the girl working. “Can I get one more spoon? Or two? Dropped mine like a klutz.” She doesn’t look my way, busy taking someone’s order. “Hey, where’s TJ? He scoops the ice cream different. Does this … this cool-ass swirl on top, too. Sometimes gives me extra toppings without charging me. Oh, shit, don’t mention that last part to Mr. Billy, he’ll have a conniption.”
“Already gone,” she answers through a grunt as she reaches in to scoop deep into the cookies and cream, “back on campus for the fall.”
“Oh, bummer. Tell him I miss him.”
“Tell him yourself,” she says right back, “assumin’ his mama wasn’t serious about bannin’ you from speakin’ to her son after his big pool bash last month, considering what you did.”
I blink. “Did what now?”
She sighs. “Leave me alone, Anthony, I’m workin’.”
“What’d I do? Gimme a hint.”
“Oh, I don’t think anyone in this town needs remindin’ what happens when you’re invited to a party, least of all yourself. Take a peek in a mirror for a damned hint.” She eyes him. “Will you step back from the counter? You’re breathin’ on everything.”
I just now notice the customer awaiting his ice cream is the general manager at the Spruce Cinema 5 where I used to work a few years ago. “Hey there, Mr. Lemon,” I greet him. “Droppin’ by for a late night treat before closin’ up the theater?”
He gives me a sulky sort of stare, the kind that says right away how annoyed my mere presence makes him. He only says, “Good evening, Mr. Myers,” and doesn’t answer my question.
Is he really holding a grudge about the fight I started at the movie theater that got me fired? I figured four years later he’d be over it. Or did I do something else more recently the last time I went there? Throw popcorn? Talk in the back row? Dance naked in the aisle? I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I did any of that.
I think.
“And it’s Angela,” she says after handing Mr. Lemon his order, which he accepts with a faint thank-you before ducking out, “which you’d know if you could read.” She taps her nametag.
“Angie’s cuter,” I sass back distractedly, watching Mr. Lemon walk sourly past the front glass window outside, still wondering about the movie theater thing.
“Only lowlifes tryin’ to get in my pants call me Angie. Or my late Granny Lucy, God rest her soul. And seeing as you’re neither.” She wipes down the counter.
I smirk. “Aww, I’m flattered you don’t think I’m a lowlife.”
“You’re lower than a lowlife.” My lips flatten. “What you need is Jesus, and he can be freely yours tomorrow mornin’ at Reverend Trey’s sermon, God help you, Anthony Myers.”
Thinking of Trey pulls my mind right back to the bar—and our reverend’s unexpected company tonight. “I’m not a lowlife tryin’ to get in your pants, jeez, what the hell?”
“Oh, I know I won’t have to sic my man on you when he gets here to pick me up in ten minutes when my shift ends. You’re all talk, no walk.” Then she lets out the world’s longest sigh. “Why don’t you just go home, Anthony? Haven’t you made enough of an ass of yourself in front of the whole town at that talent show? I’ve gotta close this place up soon.”
“It was a bachelor pageant!” I call at her back as she goes into the storage room, ignoring me. “My talent would’ve been amazing had it gone like it was supposed to! They didn’t have the budget! Hey, Angie!—Sorry—Angela! Can’t I get my girl a sundae?”
“I’m good,” says Juni from the table.
“No, you need a sundae, a sundae with extra cherries. It’s our Saturday night thing before this place closes. Angie!—la. Angela!”
“I don’t really feel like cherries n’ all that. The one was—” Juni hiccups. “—enough for me. So am I your girlfriend now?”