Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“What?” I ask, playing up my horror. “I thought you were a Trash Panda girl.”
“I am,” she says, snagging the last Slim Jim garnish from her glass with a grin. “But I’m also a chef, and a game of ‘guess the ingredients’ is too much fun to resist.”
She glances over her shoulder to the bar, where Cobb and his husband are slinging drinks as fast as their muscled arms can mix, stir, and shake. “But I’m worried about Cobb. It’s legitimately illegal not to list the ingredients on your menu. And yeah, he always asks people about life-threatening allergies, just in case, but sooner or later, a health inspector is going to find their way out here, and he’ll get a nasty fine.”
“Maybe he’ll get lucky and not get caught,” I say. “I once knew this woman who lived in her restaurant illegally for almost an entire year without anyone finding out about it. Slept on a shelf and everything.”
Makena’s gaze slides back to me, her eyes narrowing. “Touché, road meat.”
I arch a brow as I murmur, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be road meat. Because I’m just a baby boy. And we’re roommates. And you’re saving yourself for the next finance bro with a mullet who brakes for you on the highway.”
Her jaw drops. “Oh my God, you stalked my ex?”
“I didn’t stalk him. I did some light internet investigation.” I sniff as I collect my Slim Jim from my now-empty glass. “And I barely had to exert myself at all to find half a dozen red flags on old Chuck. You really should do your research before you start dating someone, Mack. Especially a guy with a mullet.”
“It isn’t a mullet!” she insists. “It’s just the tiniest bit longer in the back.”
“And yet you knew exactly who I was talking about,” I counter, pointing my meat stick her way.
“And yet you have no shame about being a stalker who stalks,” she shoots back, meeting my challenge with an “en garde” of her own Slim Jim. She swats my jerky with hers as she adds, “And I already told you, Chuck was a mistake. I was lonely and tired from working too hard, and my car had just died on the side of the road. He pulled over to save me and bought me donuts. What was I supposed to do? Not fuck him?”
“Yes,” I say, slapping her meat stick sharply on both sides.
“They were Voodoo Creamery Dark Chocolate Raspberry!” she cries, parrying my attack.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, meeting her swat for swat. “If women keep rewarding men with mullets with sex, then that horrible fucking hairstyle is just going to keep coming back from the dead.”
Scrunching her nose, she swats my wrist this time before pointing a finger at my face. “Stop judging me. I told you—I was lonely and tired. I’m sure you’ve fucked less-than-ideal people in moments of weakness.”
I shake my head. “Not that I can remember, no.”
“What about that influencer with the fake boobs as big as my entire head when you were in North Carolina?” she says. “I’ve seen pictures of you two together. What were you two up to, huh? Studying the classics? Starting a murder mystery book club? I bet she didn’t even know how to read!”
“Because her boobs were so big?”
“Yes!”
“That’s disrespectful,” I say, giving her stick another sharp tap with mine. “Not to mention anti-feminist. Where’s your loyalty to the sisterhood?”
Makena wages a full-on attack as she grunts out, “I am not loyal to all sisters, only the ones who deserve it. She didn’t deserve it.” Swat, swat, parry. “Her eyes were mean and squinty, and she wore furs that weren’t vintage and talked shit about you after you broke up.” She hits my wrist, my cheek—making me bleat in surprise—before returning to our heated verbal battle. “Which is bullshit, because you’re precious and no one should talk shit about you. Especially for wanting to go to couples’ therapy, because that’s great. And you’re great. And…I can’t do this anymore, Parker.”
The battle ends as quickly as it began, both of us breathing fast as our eyes lock over our empty drinks.
“Can’t do what?” I whisper, really hoping she means…
Praying that she means…
Nix makes a sound like he’s choking. “Look at the time.” He scoots out of the other side of the booth. “I should get my name on the karaoke list before it fills up. Don’t want to deprive the people of my silky-smooth singing voice.”
Blue follows. “And I should go pack.”
We all glance his way.
“For Nepal,” he says simply. “Tomorrow.”
“Nepal?” Makena cocks her head to one side. “Like…the country?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, we do have ten days off before summer conditioning starts,” I say. “Be safe out there, big guy. Don’t get too enlightened and join a monastery or whatever. We need you on the ice.”