Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Oh yeah.
This friendship was clearly forged at the Fleet.
“Put on pants, Gaila,” my head kicks the direction of the waiting vehicle, “we’re going shopping.”
The brown skinned bombshell in front of me lightly laughs. “I would never hide Kirk under my bed. He breaths too fucking loud.”
“Right?!”
“But I’ve done it.” She leans her t-shirt covered shoulder against the frame. “The painted myself green to be Gaila thing.”
Cocking an eyebrow is instant. “Seriously?”
“It was J.T.’s birthday.” Her shrug is small. Innocent. “It was either that or file for divorce after trying yet failing to build another Blue Brixx Star Trek set together.” She shakes her head in obvious annoyance. “I don’t have to speak fucking German to know that that was a nose piece not an ear.”
It’s my turn to giggle.
“What are we shopping for?” One leg theatrically crosses in front of the other. “Clothes? Makeup? Collectables?”
“Whatever you want.” Waggling my eyebrows is attached to mirthful smirk. “It’s on Wes.”
Glee spreads throughout her gaze prior to her stating, “Give me five?”
“We’ll be waiting.”
About twelve minutes later – another piece of evidence we’re besties – we’re in the vehicle headed towards downtown. We talk about music, dance to a classic Cooper Copeland song, and discuss some of the celebrities we’ve both apparently met despite my lack of memory. Our conversation about them easily flows into the status of my concussion and amnesia and all other health things I’m willing to talk about since they hadn’t received real updates.
According to her, Wes has been keeping all that information possible close to his Bat covered chest.
The most he’s told everyone is that I’m healing and will need extensive space.
In his defense…I had turned into a bit of a Pacific angelshark.
But I wouldn’t have bit had he let others try to talk to me.
Be near me.
“You should definitely call Vanessa and Calen,” Nae recommend while pushing around clothes in the third boutique shop, we’ve entered. “You know when you get a phone.” She momentarily stops perusing to check her own that’s vibrating. “And I should definitely invest in a work only phone to successfully not be bothered on my day off.” Her eyes cut to mine. “It’s not like the entire ship is going to fall to its doom if I postpone logging in my daily star date entry, ya know?”
“What do you do again?”
“I’m the lead choreographer and engagement liaison for the Highland Hellcats basketball team.”
“Meaning?”
“That dancing pays shit and teaching dance also pays shit, so I coordinate events and outings and appearances for the girls to attend that boosts and protects the team’s branding while simultaneously helping the chicks supplement their income during their dance career with us for a respectable salary on top of the commissions fee, I receive from connecting the dancers to financial opportunities…globally.”
“Fuck dude.” My jaw hits the over polished floors beneath us. “You’re like a real-life Troi.”
“And you, Mrs. A Thresher Shark And A Fox Shark Are The Same Fucking Thing, are a real-life Uhura whose marine life based knowledge reminds us all an awful lot of philology.” Amusement crosses her expression as she pulls out a pink tube top monstrosity. “Too Selena meets My Little Pony?”
“One hundred.”
Nae sighs, shoves the object back on the rack, and braces an arm on top of it. “Maybe we shop for you now? I’m clearly not in step with any of these places so far.”
Small giggles precede me lowering my mouth to retort yet a familiar face passing by the distant glass window has me switching topics. “Have you ever had a stalker?”
“Several.”
Our eyes lock once more. “Did they ever get…violent?”
“Violent? No. Creepy?” She bounces her head back and forth, loose locks playfully swaying around. “I’d check the yes box before the no box.”
I cut another glance to the young woman who has stopped outside the store where she’s pretending to text instead of stare. “Do you think that that’s who attacked me the day of the incident? A Wes stalker gone Nero?” My head falls to one side on a disapproving glare. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Is that in reference to your stepsister?”
“Can we not call her that?”
Nae poorly hides her grin. “Your mom’s husband’s daughter.”
“Wordy.”
“Mouthy.”
Another round of snickers slips free in tandem with my nodding. “Yeah. I’ve been wondering if maybe the incident is somehow related to her or someone who feels like she felt, which to my understanding – because I don’t remember shit about that whole nightmare that I haven’t been directly told – was like I was given command when I didn’t deserve type of shit.” I steal another quick look at the woman less than innocently angling her phone to snap a picture of us. “What if Wes has a stalker who thinks if she gets his son and wife out of the way, she can have him all to herself?”