Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Well, then it’s good we got a rental car,” Indy replied. “We can head out and get started.”
At that, there were smiles all around.
Avenging Angels and Rock Chicks on the move!
“Wait, before I go, I wanna know what’s got the greater probability of being blown up? This phat coffee place that sells booze? Or this Clarice lady’s digs?” Annette demanded.
“My guess, wherever the laptop is,” Shanti told her.
“Then I’m staying here,” Annette decided. She then looked to Jessie. “You were talkin’ cocktails?”
Ally, Indy and Roxie went to their car with the laptop.
Annette went to the bar.
Tex went to the coffee cubby.
The Angels had a quick confab.
“We need a computer guru,” Raye pointed out the obvious.
“Cody’s supposed to be good with computers,” Jessie said.
“He’s on the wrong team,” Luna replied.
She was so competitive.
“Now, he is,” Raye said. “But Ally can get us Brody for this case. We gotta figure out how to butter Cody up should we need him in the future.”
“He’s a little young for my butter,” Luna noted.
She was right. Cody was in his early twenties.
“I’m never buttering anyone again,” Willow announced.
“Aw, Will, don’t say that,” Shanti murmured. Then she noticed we were all looking at her. That was when she stated, “I don’t butter white bread.”
Hmm.
“Maybe you can butter Liam’s bread and then he can get Cody to be our computer guru,” Raye suggested.
Shanti got squinty-eyed at the mention of Liam.
Hmm!
“Fuck me! Are you women gonna work ever?” Tex boomed.
After we all giggled (well, they laughed, I giggled), we finally got to work.
TWENTY-THREE
“I’M EVERY WOMAN”
(CHAKA KHAN)
It was late the next morning and Javi and I were having our first fight (well, the first one after we officially got together).
And it was stupid.
But he was being stubborn.
Which was more stupid!
“We’re taking this back to my place and getting you a new one when we shop for doubled-up stuff,” I said for, like, the millionth time.
I said this while I set my nutribullet in the box we were putting my stuff into for the move back to my place.
The instant I took my hands from it, Javi pulled it out and retorted inflexibly, “New one’s gonna be at your place.”
This was the fifth time this happened.
My yoga mat and all my exercise stuff was still upstairs, because Javi decreed he didn’t want me dragging it back and forth, so I was getting new for my place, something we were going to see to after we took all his and my stuff there. The same with my moisturizer, night cream (really, all my toiletries), bubble bath and salts, and sonic toothbrush.
I’d caved on all of those.
But Javi didn’t use any of those, not to mention, they were replaced regularly when I ran out.
So I was totally putting my foot down about the nutribullet.
“It doesn’t really matter. It’ll be the same thing at both places,” I pointed out.
“If it doesn’t matter, then you should have no problem leavin’ this here,” he returned.
Bah!
“I want new stuff at your place. You want new stuff too. You said it yourself. Only good stuff here,” I retorted, then added, “Especially anything you might use, like the nutribullet.”
“I want the good stuff at your place more,” he shot back.
“I make the smoothies,” I replied heatedly. “So I should be able to pick where my equipment is.”
“Babe, you pack a bunch a’ healthy shit in the plastic thing and whiz it. You want me to take my turn making ’em? They don’t look that tough. I’ll make ’em.”
I was offended.
“I’d just like to see you try to make my Apple Cinnamon Oat Extravaganza Smoothie,” I snapped.
“Not drinking that shit again if that’s what you call it,” Javi muttered.
Ugh!
That one was his favorite!
“As you know,”—I flung an arm toward his kick-A chesterfield—“you’re allowed to have nice things,” I stated snottily.
“Yeah?” he asked.
But at his new tone, all of a sudden, my chest started hurting.
I powered through it and whispered, “Yeah.”
“Fuck it, who cares,” he said and dumped my nutribullet in the box. “We’ll get new for here. I’m gonna start packing shit in the truck.”
“Javi,” I called as he began to move away.
He turned to me.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“Nothin’, Harlow. Let’s just get this fuckin’ show on the road so we can get your shit in, go out and buy what we need to buy, and then maybe relax for an hour before I gotta cart your ass to Mace and Stella’s so you women can do your sit-down with Nancy.”
Before, he seemed annoyed.
Now he seemed angry.
I moved to him and put my hand on his chest. “This should be fun, doubling up on our stuff.”
“It would be, if you didn’t fight me every fuckin’ inch about shit that doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I told him.
“For shit’s sake, why?” he demanded.
“Because you should have nice, new stuff,” I said.