Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Dante chokes on his biscuit. “Neither of us fart, asshole. We’re still in the honeymoon phase where we try to endlessly impress each other.”
“I thought that was a chick thing,” Zak throws back.
“No one wants their lover to hear them fart,” Dante assures us. “But, once I have him locked in with a ring and my last name, you better believe I’m going to smoke him out to get him back for his awful dog.”
Ox makes a huff like he knows what we’re saying and doesn’t appreciate our bad-mouthing him.
Zak and I both laugh. Everything feels lighter. I’m happy. This is fixable.
The rest of dinner is chatter about the wedding. It’ll be an early spring wedding held at the B&B. Some of their friends will be flying in from New York, but most of the guests are locals. Zak leaves to go to his garage apartment to take his test and returns less than twenty minutes later to brag about acing it.
“I guess I’ll be heading back. I have some work to get to myself,” I say after I’ve helped clear the table of dishes. “Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe with Shelly. I’d love to give her shit about ice sculptures.”
Dante laughs, yanking me to him for a hug. I relax in his hold. We can do this. We can get past this hump together.
“I can drive you back to your place,” Zak says. “I need to head back to the bowling alley, and it’s sleeting. You don’t want to walk in that shit.”
After we put on our coats and I tell Dante bye, we go outside to Zak’s car. He turns on the heater, but it’s still cold as fuck. There’s no way in hell it’ll warm up enough by the time we go one street over. Still, he blows that thing on high like it will. I shudder against the cold air blasting out. The drive to my place is short. When we arrive, there’s a shiny Mercedes parked in the driveway.
“Who the hell is that?” I mutter under my breath.
“You don’t know them?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Zak says.
For once, I don’t feel like he’s overprotective. It’s kind of creepy seeing the car parked there. I’d rather have someone like Zak with me than go alone.
We climb out and head to the front porch. A man, upon seeing us, climbs out of the expensive car. I can’t see his face in the dark, but he gives me the willies.
“Is my son home?” a deep voice rumbles.
The man approaches, and I recognize him as Terry, Atlas’s dad.
“Work,” I grit out. “I’ll tell him you came by.”
Zak sidles up next to me, radiating with tension.
“You live here?” Terry asks. “With Atlas?”
“Roommates.” And more. But I’m not telling this asshole that.
“I see,” Terry says. “I guess it’s in the water, then.”
“What’s in the water?” My voice quavers, and I hate it. It’s not from fear but anger. I know it’s going to be something hateful and yet I’m here asking for it.
Terry scoffs. “Homosexuality.”
“Fuck off,” Zak growls. “Time for you to leave.”
Terry turns his attention to Zak. “Protecting your lover boy’s honor. Seems that this Kincaid brat here is quite popular among the men in this town. Tell me, Callan, what makes you so special?”
Zak starts forward, but I stop him, gripping his bicep.
“He’s not worth it,” I hiss to Zak. “Leave it.”
Terry laughs, dark and sinister. “Yes, Mr. Bell. You best watch your step. I think you people forget that I’m an attorney. I will sue your fucking socks off just like I’m suing my son. In fact, I was stopping by to see if he was ready to settle up with your father.”
“Go to hell,” I snap. “You can’t sue a cop for doing his damn job.”
“You’ll see,” Terry growls, “that we’re not afraid of you people. We’re certainly not going to let you infect our town with your disgusting lifestyle.”
“Leave before I call and have your own son arrest you,” I threaten. “Trust me, he would do it too. You heard the man. Hate won’t be tolerated anymore.”
Terry steps closer, his face getting in mine. “Watch your back, kid. We might just have to find creative ways to deal with our problems around here.”
He turns on his heel, storms off, and peels out down the street before I even process his words.
“Call Atlas and tell him what happened,” Zak says. “I’ll leave once you’re safe with the door locked.”
“He didn’t technically do anything.”
“But he will.” Zak’s jaw works. “They need to be on top of this. I’m tired of this shit.”
I hold my fist out for Zak to bump it rather than giving him a hug and then scamper inside. Once the door is locked behind me, he finally leaves.
Will this stuff ever end?
It’s getting really fucking old.