Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Yep, I thought I was fucked before. But now? I don’t know what’s worse than that, but that’s what I am. I consider pushing past her, but even Avery—sweet, kind, gentle Avery—is lined up shoulder to shoulder with Hazel. A death squad of two against me.
I’ve already lost the battle, so I let them frog-march me back to the table, where Wyatt and Winston are doing their best not to laugh at my predicament.
Hazel pins Wyatt with a glare. “Why was he leaving in such a rush?”
Whoops, he’s busted.
Deflect, distract, disengage. “I was on my way to tell you that Wyatt’s the one who taught Lester the ‘you look like bullshit’ thing.”
My hope is that by throwing Wyatt under the bus, I can keep Hazel’s attention on him and I can make a run for it.
“Oh, he did, did he?” Hazel sings at her husband. But he’s not quaking in his boots like he should be. Instead, he full-on laughs and points at me.
“You actually think she believes you? Dumbass, she’s letting you think that so she can be mad at you again later when it oh-so-shockingly comes out that you’re the one who did that. She’s saving it for a future ass-kicking. Your ass, not mine.”
No way. She totally believes me.
But when I look at Hazel, she’s now glaring at Wyatt for spilling her top secret strategy. “Wyatt! Don’t tell all my secrets or you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight!”
“Where I hear you’ve done more than sleep,” I add because he’s not the only one telling secrets. I know too much about that couch, their dining table, and Wyatt’s workshop behind the house.
Charlene drops a pitcher of beer and a basket of fries on the table and tells Hazel, “I know it’s your night off, but can you take care of this yourself?” She points to our little group. “I’ve got a group over there that might make my month of tips if I play my cards right.”
She slides her eyes to the right, and we follow to see a pair of pool tables surrounded by rough-looking guys who seem to be doing their own low-key pool tournament.
“Ooh, think they’d let me play?” Hazel wonders aloud, seeing dollar signs.
Charlene gives Hazel’s butt a friendly smack. “Girl, you know better’n to pull shit like that. Don’t mess up my good thing.”
Where Hazel sees potential pool buddies, I see potential problems. Bunch of guys, drinking, competing, a cute waitress . . . this could go south quickly. “Charlene, you need help with anything, you holler at us, ’kay?”
Charlene’s eye roll is epic. “If I can’t handle a tableful of tourists who wanna play a li’l pool and drink a li’l beer, I’ve got no business being here. Besides, I’ve got Robbie on speed dial.” She means Officer Robbie Milson, who she’s friendly with when the mood suits them both.
She floats off, dancing through the tables easily, and leaving me the focus of the death squad of two again.
Surprisingly, Avery fires first. “I thought Wren knew about how you feel and she was the one who didn’t feel the same?”
Nope, not doing this. She said “feel” twice in one sentence. That’s two too many times, especially after my day, when my emotions are riding too close to the surface. “Can we not talk about how she figured out that she’s about fifty levels outta my league? I really can’t today.”
I don’t see it coming. I didn’t see Hazel move, but suddenly she’s beside me and smacks the hell out of the back of my head. It’s a move she learned from a show Mom watches while she’s working in the early morning at the bakery. She calls the head slap “the DiNozzo.”
“Ow! Fuck!” I hiss, rubbing my head. “What the hell was that for?”
Hazel’s eyes narrow as she silently stares into my soul for an uncomfortably long moment. Finally, she says, “I knew you were a dumbass, but Wren’s the smartest person I know. Yet somehow, you’re both stupider than a drunk city boy in a dog-sledding race.”
“What?” I sputter. I’m not insulted in the slightest, but I am mad on Wren’s behalf.
Hazel’s on a roll, though. “She told us about the phone call eargasm thing, and then when I asked who it was—”
I interrupt to declare, “She’s not fucking around with anyone else.” I do know that much for sure.
I give Wren her space, and I’m trying to give her time to realize that no one will take care of her like I will, even if I’m a dirty, semibroke construction guy who’s got too many scars, shitty tattoos, and a foul mouth. But even with that time and space, I keep careful track of who she talks to, who she hangs out with, and what’s going on with her. Careful in the sense of discreet enough that she doesn’t know, and staying on this side of legal so that Officer Milson doesn’t have to make a visit to tell me to back off.