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)
“Afternoon, Malibu Ken,” I playfully greet Calen Connelly, the one best friend I still haven’t had the chance to reconnect with. “What brings you by my humble beach house?”
He slowly strolls in, smirk stretching wider. “Do you actually have a beach house?”
“Not yet.” An arrogant grin is flashed. “However, Wes is looking.”
“Of course, Mega Millions is looking.”
“Mega Billions.”
“Good to know you still do that,” he lightly laughs prior to pointing into the space in front of him. “Now, get over here and hug me like I just won the Pe’ahi Challenge.”
Leaping out of my chair and into his hold is effortlessly executed.
Both arms fly loving around him, and the instant he does the same, with my face wedged in his white polo, a sea of memories unexpectedly flow to the front of mind.
There’s sobbing.
And flashes of transportation equipment.
Jumbled thoughts of rain and Amphitrite and pineapple.
Huh.
Why pineapple?
Aside from it being the best tropical fruit to ever exist, of course.
“I’m gifted,” is thoughtlessly murmured into the fabric as wafts of sand and saltwater tickle my nose.
“You’re exhausting.”
Pulling back, I adoringly peer up at him, grateful for whatever unclear memories are keeping us tethered together. “I’m the head bitch in charge.”
“That you are, Lady Wilcox.” He maintains his pleasant disposition while untangling himself from me. “That you are.”
“Lady Wilcox? Really?” There’s no stopping my sarcastic head tilt. “That’s the best you can do?”
“That’s the best to do.” He slides his hands into his khaki pants and devilishly beams. “It pisses you off the same way it pisses Wilcox off when you refer to his dick as the Batarang.”
A glee-filled, theatrical gasp escapes. “Ohhhhh! I’m so doing that tonight!”
“And this is probably why he kept postponing our reunion after the first family meal attempt.”
Laughter freely flows around the room, eventually ending with me announcing, “Remind me to give you my new number before you leave.”
“You changed your number?”
“Wes changed my number.” I innocently shrug my indifference. “I was just thankful to finally have my own phone again.”
“That netting sounds tight.”
“It wasn’t exactly loose.”
“You doin’ okay with everything?” Sympathy doesn’t hesitate to be shown. “I mean…I’ve gotten Richie Rich’s weekly memos, so spare me that passive aggro bullshit and backdoor me, bro.”
“That sounds like a sex act.”
“It probably is.”
“I swear I did that at least twice in college and once on my honeymoon.” Another round spirals around my relatively small office space as I brace my ass on the edge of my slightly curved wooden desk. “Truth?”
He immediately nods.
“It isn’t flat.” I deliver an unnecessary adjustment to my messy, work bun. “There are constant fuckin’ waves. Sometimes they’re ankle busters and sometimes they’re barrels, but no matter what happens, I get back on my board. Swim out. And keep going.”
“Good.” Another undeniably gorgeous grin practically illuminates the entire office space. “And glad to see you remember how to speak my language.”
“Oh, choke on some foamies.” More snickers slip between us. “I was surfing and banging surfers long before I met you.”
It’s his turn to dramatically gasp. “My, my, Lady Wilcox. Does Lord of the Benjamins know?!” Playfully punching him in the shoulder prompts him to gasp again. “You are not supposed to strike employees. Didn’t you read your handbook?”
“I read and helped amend that shit.” Calen delivers a snarky smile. “Plus, you don’t work for me; therefore, you’re not technically one of my employees, which means striking isn’t a fire able offence.”
“Just a regular assault charge.”
“Exactly.” After this surge of chuckles, I investigate, “Now, what can this department head do for one of K&T’s lead veterinarians?”
“You can escort him to the sunflower sea stars I’m here to evaluate for possible transferring.”
“Oooo,” snatching up my jacket is a swift action, “that was one of the amendments I made!”
“It was.” He watches me wiggle on the article. “And I think having each vet have to inspect the creature in person themselves versus relying on others or mere evaluation paperwork to make a decision has done wonders. Not only has it created better relationships between aquatic organizations, but it’s cut down on the number of failed transfers due to vets often being able to spot something those that are untrained can’t.”
“I like compliments.” I button my jacket between statements. “Give me more.”
“This is where my nephew gets it.”
Chortles oscillate between us during the exiting of my office, yet once we’re out of what I’ve come to label as management cove, I resume my professional interrogation, “What’s the plan for these particular sunflower sea stars?”
“Larger captive breeding.” We continue our unhurried stroll towards the area where they’re segregated. “As you know our facility has the space while we hope to continue to use yours to host feeding as well as stimuli experiments.”
Ignoring the giddiness that begins coursing through my veins is impossible.
I studied for so long and so hard to be doing something – fuck, anything – in my industry and here I am.