Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
A few times, he’d caught Randy staring at him with what appeared to be regret and longing, but he’d be damned if he’d make the first move toward reconciliation. That ball was in Randy’s court, and he could decide if he was man enough to do something about it.
“Yeah?” He started walking again, heading for the garage, where they kept extra supplies, such as this bag of grout that had been ordered but not used. “It's a real coincidence you showing up at my work and me being here. But I guess life’s strange that way.”
Ducky snorted. “You always were a smartass.”
When he reached the open garage, Tate tossed the grout on the ground next to a few other bags before he turned, hands on his hips, to face Ducky. “Let’s get this over with, Duck. Say all the clever slurs and bullshit you think will somehow turn me straight so I can roll my eyes, flip you off, and get on with my day. I’d rather not keep my man waiting at the end of the day.”
Damn, he loved being able to say that out loud.
Ducky cocked his head. “Randy gave up too easily. He shoulda put you down.”
Unease crawled across Tate’s skin. Ducky always was a few cups short of a gallon. The antagonism in his tone had Tate standing tall and preparing for a physical altercation. “You’re not my brother, Duck. I’ll give back as good as I get with you.”
Come at me, motherfucker.
“Saw your little bitch this morning,” Ducky said with an evil grin.
Now, Tate was on high alert. If Ducky so much as farted in Liam’s direction, Tate would tear off his balls and feed them to him. He rolled his shoulders, fighting to keep a casual stance. “Little bitch? That what they call you in prison?”
“Shame about his studio.”
Shit.
Tate tensed. “What did you do?” He narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?” he asked with menace in his tone this time.
Smirking, Ducky shrugged. “Didn’t do shit.”
Tate reached for the phone in his pocket only to remember he’d left it on the dash in the truck. He stormed toward Ducky. “If you even fucking frown his way, I’ll—”
“Tate, everything okay out here?”
His boss appeared in the doorway leading from the garage to the inside offices. “All good, boss,” he said.
“Hey, Donald, good to see you, man.”
Ducky grinned at Larkin. “You too, Mr. Larkin. Swear you get younger and thinner every time I come by.”
For someone so goddamn homophobic, Ducky sure seemed ready, willing, and eager to suck Larkin’s dick.
“Well, thank you,” Larkin said, rubbing a hand over his protruding stomach. “You looking for a job, son?”
“He’s not,” Tate said, expression flat. “He’s working at the body shop.”
“Yeah, but I can always use a few more dollars.” Ducky shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You need any extra help?”
If Larkin took Ducky on, it’d be the fuel Tate needed to get the fuck out of there and start his own company. No more flirting with the idea. The interview with the developer had gone well, and he refused to work with someone who’d slip a blade between his ribs when he turned his back.
“Yeah,” Larkin said. “We got a few big jobs on the horizon.”
Big jobs, my ass. Tate had been begging him for months to take on bigger, more complicated jobs, but Larkin was as lazy as a damn sloth.
“Why don’t you come on in, and we’ll chat, son. And, fuck off with this Mr. Larkin crap. Known you your whole goddamn life. Call me Harry like everybody else does.”
“You got it, Harry.” Ducky flashed him a yellow-toothed smile.
He might as well have added finger guns to the good-ole-boy routine. Tate clenched his teeth as he counted to ten. It didn’t kill his anger, but it kept him from ripping into Ducky in front of his boss.
Larkin disappeared inside with a motion for Ducky to follow.
Ducky back-walked toward the door, tossing Tate a wink.
Hatred flowed through Tate. His hands curled into fists at his sides. How on earth had he ever idolized this asshole? Sure, it was back before he’d hit his teen years, and he was in awe of the older guys who could drive and had the freedom to go wherever they wanted whenever they wanted. He’d followed Randy and Daryl around like a damn puppy, but it’d been Ducky he’d admired the most, probably because Randy and Daryl did as well. Eighteen to Tate’s ten, he’d represented everything Tate craved.
It wasn’t more than a few years until he’d grown a brain and realized the swagger he’d admired belonged to a bigot and a bully. Ducky had fallen from his pedestal so fast he’d shattered in Tate’s mind.
“You know…” Ducky paused in the doorway with a knowing smirk. “There is just something about your little dancer that is so familiar to me.” He pursed his lips, snapping his fingers while staring at the ceiling as though he had a brain to think with.