Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Uh-oh,” I said, wincing.
“What?” my father asked, tensing.
“I don’t think my boss is going to be okay with me taking more time off.”
“It’s time you quit that job anyway,” my father said, shrugging.
“I need the income.” For my own sanity, mostly. The party planning was bringing in enough to pay my bills. I was just too scared to dive in with both feet.
“If you need an infusion of cash, you know we got you,” Dad assured me.
I did.
I knew that.
And I wasn’t sure why it was so damn important to me that I not take him up on that offer.
“Don’t worry about work, okay?” he said, rubbing between my shoulders twice. “Not with everything else going on.”
He was right.
They didn’t need any more stress.
They had enough on their plates.
And if I lost my job, I could just get another.
“Okay,” I agreed.
He said his goodbyes a moment later. Pagan and Sully followed. As did Dezi, after he made a phone call to a local bakery.
Pretty soon, the clubhouse felt almost empty again.
Fallon, Brooks, and a few of the uncles moved outside to talk. And I knew several other members were acting as guards somewhere on the grounds.
But when I moved off the stool, I was alone.
“Whoa,” I said as the room swam.
“I got you,” Perish said, his hand grabbing my elbow.
Okay.
So not alone.
“Second one hitting hard?” he asked, plucking the drink from my hand.
“I don’t drink a lot,” I admitted, craning my head up to look at him.
“And Pagan’s pours are fucking lethal. That fucker got my ass drunk once before I even realized I was feeling it.”
“It just tasted blue.”
A little huff of a laugh escaped him at that.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his gaze sliding to my lips, “I can see that. How about I walk you to the couch, then get you something to eat?”
“You cook?” I asked, letting myself be led away.
“No. But I can throw together a good sandwich.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Can I have chips too?”
“Yep,” he agreed, lowering me down onto the couch.
“Can I have pickles?”
“You can have anything you want.”
I was pretty sure I batted my eyes at him then. Which got me a little sigh and a mumbled Fuck under his breath before he turned away and went into the kitchen.
Alone, I pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch and reached for the remote, though I was mostly listening to Perish move around in the kitchen. Making me food. Aside from family, I’d never had a man make me food before. Not even something as simple as a sandwich.
I was stupidly excited about it.
He emerged when I finally found one of my favorite ‘90s rom-coms to put on.
Then there he was. With a plate the size of a platter, with three different kinds of chips, a variety of pickles, and a sandwich that had to be five inches thick—mostly with meat and cheese and what seemed like one slice of lettuce.
“Didn’t know what kind of chips or pickles you like.”
“I like them all. But for the record: I like plain potato chips. The ones that fold over are my favorite. And half-sour pickles,” I said, picking up one. “This is too much food for us non-giants,” I told him, gesturing with my pickle toward the cushion beside me. “Want to help me finish it?”
He looked conflicted for a moment but eventually dropped down and reached for one of the baby dill pickles.
“What’s your favorite chip?” I asked, reaching for one of the plain ones.
“Cool Ranch. Used to steal those little snack-sized bags from a local convenience store as a kid.”
“I’ve never stolen anything.”
“You’ve never needed to.”
“I think I was too much of a coward to do it.”
“Coward?” he asked, shooting me a look with lowered brows. “Think maybe it’s more like a strong conscience.”
“Dunno,” I said, the drinks making me a little confessional. “I’ve never been very daring.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“Everyone around here is daring.”
“Don’t mean you’re not as good because you like different shit.”
The noise I made must not have satisfied him.
“You respect Willa, right?”
“Willa is amazing.”
“She doesn’t do crazy shit.”
“I mean, her business dealings can be crazy.”
“And you create dick-filled divorce parties,” he said, making a choked laugh escape me. “That’s its own kind of crazy.”
“That was a really fun party,” I said, handing him half of the sandwich before reaching for my own. “You know… until…”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Pretty sure it is.”
“Did I miss the part where you told Cameron to try to shoot us?”
“No. But I created that monster.”
“I think you protected a little boy who needed it. What he became after you went away to prison, that’s on him, not you.”
“He’s targeting you because of me.”
“Well, if it is any comfort to you, I’m sure he’d rather attack and kill you.”
That got a surprised snort out of Perish.