Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He also didn’t want to ask his mother for help, since they weren’t close and she lived all the way in Montana. If things got dire, he’d reach out, but Dad hadn’t left her with much after their divorce years ago, so until things got unbearable, he didn’t want to ask for help.
So here he was, staring at the guy who thought cutting off a chunk of Ros’s hair had been a prank for the ages.
“So? Are you afraid they’re gonna burrow inside your pussy, or something?” Mitch’s droopy eyes rolled as he rubbed his stubbly chin. Spread on the sofa in a tracksuit that had a massive red stain at the front since yesterday, he was the embodiment of sloth and proud of it too.
Ros’s shoulders fell. “You’re really fine with this shit?” He’d promised himself not to be confrontational since his last argument with Mitch ended up with bruises and a cigarette burn on his forearm, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when the damn house felt like a biohazard that would eventually take him down.
“Yeah, now shut up. I’m trying to watch something,” Mitch hissed, looking up from his cell phone. He’d trashed the TV two nights ago and hadn’t yet replaced it, but clearly there was no rush to do anything in his world.
“He squeaking again?” Jason asked as his feet thumped down the creaking stairs. Ros flinched with each of his steps, because the wood was so old he feared it might break under the guy’s weight, tearing flesh and breaking bone.
Ros pushed back his hair, still not used to the fact that it barely reached his shoulders now. In his former life, he would have gone to a hairdresser’s, but beauty treatments of any kind were beyond his budget, so he’d settled on chopping some of his locks here and there to even things out after they’d been hacked off with kitchen scissors.
He wished he could take more shifts at the gas station and save up to move somewhere nicer, but the only ones available at the moment overlapped with his bartending job, which left him trapped with the two shitheads, unless he’d rather live in the street.
At this point, he considered going back to dealing, but Shane and his elusive friend had been his only contacts, and his one sales outlet—the frat. What was he to do? Approach the local biker gang and ask if they needed recruits? Just thinking about it had his stomach clenching with anxiety.
“Yeah, he’s runnin’ his mouth,” Mitch said as the living cloud of stench entered the living room carrying a massive blanket that had seen better days and probably served as a home for a whole herd of fleas. For whatever reason, Jason favored massive hoodies that he wore for days on end, claiming they weren’t yet dirty enough to wash, and the one he had on at the moment had been his outfit of choice for the past week. If he just changed the T-shirts worn underneath...
“I wasn’t saying anything,” Ros grumbled, turning to the dishes and wondering whether he should wash them all or resign himself to eating off paper plates in his room.
The loud farting sound made them all stall. But as Ros looked around, weirded out, Mitch and Jason both broke down with laughter.
“Just look at his face!” Mitch rumbled and presented his open palm toward Jason, who gave him a high-five. “It’s not you, prince. It’s the new doorbell!”
Wow .
“I guess I’ll get that.”
Anything to escape their presence. If it wasn’t snowing outside, he would have just sat on a bench and pretended his life hadn’t gone down the drain. Maybe he’d have even gone to a park and drawn in his sketchbook, which was something he hadn’t done in a week. As much pleasure as art had always given him, it required mental energy, and Rosen’s was permanently depleted.
Harlene wouldn’t have come here unannounced, so it was surely one of Mitch or Jason’s buddies, but maybe a guest would take their attention off Rosen at least?
He dragged his feet, trying to ignore the way the sticky floor clung to his trainers, but in the end reached the door and opened it wide.
The first thing he saw were motorcycle boots and washed-out denim pants, but before he could have filled his lungs with air, a familiar voice spoke.
“What happened to your hair?”
Ros stepped back so fast he ended up stumbling on the wall. He should have slammed the door not backed off, but Shane already entered and captured one of the strands that now barely reached Rosen’s shoulders.
He smelled of spice and wood. Like Rosen’s first time, and his handsome face was pinched in a deep frown as he regarded Ros from head to toe.
Ros had to force himself to breathe, because he still had nightmares about the last time they’d met. He’d never been so betrayed in his life, and in this moment even Mitch and Jason’s presence felt safer than Shane’s.