Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Bells, babe, can you turn down the music? I can’t hear Dane.”
Realizing the futility of fighting my brother, I roll over and drag the phone to my ear. “Last night after you left, I got a call about a skip over in Urban Center. He was drunk as hell and it took some time to wrestle him into my truck and take him to the station. I got home late and was getting ready for bed when I heard some noises outside. Thought a raccoon had gotten into the trash, but it was just my neighbor and some other girl decorating my truck with plastic wrap. Took that off, went inside and got another skip call—”
“Hold on. I gotta tell this to Bells.”
“Of course you do.” I rub the heel of my hand against one of my eyes. It feels like I have gravel there. My body’s tired, but my mind’s awake so I heave myself out of bed as Mick relays my story to his wife. I know precisely when he gets to the Saran Wrap bit because I can hear Bells bust out laughing in the background.
Mick returns. “Bells wants to know what you’re going to do.”
I peek out my bedroom window. From this view I can see most of her backyard, but it’s empty. She’s either gone to work or inside the house.
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”
“To get back at Joy.”
“Who’s Joy?”
Am I dreaming and that’s why this conversation doesn’t make any sense? I give myself a slap on the face. Nah, that felt pretty real.
“I already told you. Joy’s your neighbor.”
I jerk upright, strike the side of my face against the window blind, and squawk, “You did not. How do you even know her name?”
“Keep up, turtle. I told you she was an instafluencer. Now tell me what you’re going to do to get back at her? You have to act, you know. You can’t allow the Saran Wrap to go unanswered. Maybe egg her car? Shit in a bag at the front door? Ouch, Bells, why are you hitting me? Okay. Okay. I’ll tell him. Bells said nothing destructive.”
“Can we rewind here? I didn’t get home until about four hours ago.” Between the time I spied my neighbor, Joy, through my kitchen window and the time I lost consciousness sometime near dawn, I’d had a lot of ideas about what I wanted to do with Joy, and none of them involved eggs, shit in a bag, or Saran Wrap...although...if I was wrapping my neighbor in plastic wrap she’d be naked, and that’s not a bad thing at all, except plastic wrap would inhibit access to all the good parts so no, not going to do that. I rub my jaw. How’d my thought process end up here?
“If you don’t do something in response, she’s going to think you aren’t a man. That you’ve got no balls between your legs, and then kiss your chance at seeing her bed goodbye.”
“I don’t see how those two things go together. If you egg someone’s house or purposely make them step in dog shit, they aren’t going to throw off their clothes and beg you to fuck them.” I navigate down the stairs and walk to the coffee maker in the kitchen. Maybe this whole conversation will make more sense after a shot of caffeine.
“I already took those two things back,” Mick whines. “But this is simple math. Every action requires a reaction, and if there’s no reaction, then you’re dead.”
“What is it that you suggest I do?”
“Can’t be with Saran Wrap.”
“Good. That wasn’t on my list.”
“Dude. I woke you up. You don’t have a list. Right now you’re stumbling around your kitchen trying to make yourself a cup of coffee.”
I scowl at the coffee beans spilled across the counter.
“I’m sorry I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of pranks. I’m thirty-two and hunt criminals who skipped bail, so my frat boy prank days are behind me.”
“I can’t believe my brother is so boring. Let me know when you take up knitting to give your gout-ridden knees a break so that I can bring over Grandma’s rocking chair.”
“I like Grandma’s rocking chair.” I scoop the beans up and dump them into the coffeemaker. A flipped switch later and the machine starts the grinding process. I pull out a counter stool and stare out the window into Joy’s house. “How do you know my neighbor’s a instafluencer?” That sounds like a made up word.
“I swear to God, you are an eighty-year-old man. She’s famous! Bells already saw the update this morning about how Joy tried to prank you and recognized your black Jeep. By the way, Joy is soliciting advice from her followers on what to do to you next. In the meantime, she’s going on some kind of date.”