Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 133738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“You are in nothing but shorts and I’m in your shirt,” I pointed out, though I didn’t tell him I was in his shirt and not back in my Computer Raiders outfit because I wanted him to see me in his shirt making breakfast, my body at odds with my mind as to what was the right thing for Mag in this situation.
My body winning out.
In a lot of ways.
“I’m not fifteen. You’re not fifteen. And she’s not my mom or yours,” he returned.
He had a point.
I looked to Lottie. “We slept in separate rooms. Boone gave me this shirt because I didn’t have anything to wear to bed. I was making Mag breakfast as a thank-you and it was me who kissed him. Um, the first time.”
“The first time,” the platinum blonde said through a tinkly giggle.
I saw Lottie cotton on precisely to why I was wearing his shirt making breakfast. I also caught her lips shifting like she was fighting a smile. All while I felt my cheeks heat at the memory of that kiss.
I hadn’t had the chance to process the mortification of possibly giving him a fat lip while trying to kiss him, nor how I felt that Mag gave me a do-over.
Okay, so that do-over was the best kiss of…my…life, so that was a plus.
But by kissing him, or letting him kiss me, I was not exactly saving him from the disaster my life seemed always to be, so that was a minus.
“I never made Lee breakfast to thank him for invading my life and commandeering my problems,” the lone redhead said.
“I made Hank breakfast, my stuffed French toast, but it wasn’t a thank-you for him invading my life and commandeering my problems,” yet a different blonde said. “Or was it?”
“Your French toast is everything,” the blonde with the hubby who would write with a knife declared. “You totally need to make it when we hit that Vrbo in Vail next weekend.”
“I’ll put the ingredients on the communal grocery list,” the other blonde decided.
And then I jumped, though I didn’t get very far in Mag’s hold.
This was because ZZ Top Guy spoke, and even though I sensed it was his regular voice, it was a boom.
“Learn fast” was what he said, and he said it to me.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“In the face of death, destruction, car bombs, grenades, shootouts, etcetera,” he rolled a beefy mitt in front of him to demonstrate “etcetera” went quite a long and apparently scary way, “conversation will degenerate to grocery lists or even more ridiculous shit. While you’re in the middle of your drama, stay sharp, and by that I mean, don’t focus on French toast no matter how good my Roxie’s stuffed French toast is. And it’s fuckin’ brilliant.”
This seemed bizarre, but good advice.
“I thought we were here to grab her and take her somewhere safe so she doesn’t have to deal with her drama,” yet another blonde remarked.
“You are not taking Evie anywhere,” Mag rumbled.
All eyes got wide and focused on him.
“Jet, you’re not supposed to say that in front of the cranky commando,” the one called Roxie mumbled.
“Damn, Roxie. Guess I’m out of practice,” Jet mumbled back.
“Evie was making me breakfast and you were leaving?” Mag prompted. “After, that is, you drop the key,” Mag said directly to Lottie.
“I’m not leaving the key,” Lottie said to Mag. “Mo would be upset if I left his key.”
“After, that is, you promise you’ll never let yourself into my condo just because you’re in a snit,” Mag amended.
I could see Lottie wasn’t fond of the word “snit.”
Fortunately, ZZ Top Guy intervened.
“We got a plan, bud,” ZZ Top Guy shared.
“I heard your plan and I’m not in favor,” Mag replied.
“That’s the girls’ plan. Except for Ally and Jules, we never do the girls’ plans,” ZZ Top told him.
“Hey!” the redhead snapped.
“Gotta say, it’s the only rule we got that makes any sense,” the African American lady said to the platinum blonde.
“Mm-hmm, sugar,” the platinum blonde hummed.
“I’ve had some good plans,” the redhead disagreed.
There were some shuffling feet.
The redhead was not good at planning.
I made note of that.
ZZ Top simply ignored her. “We get your girl. Take her home for some clothes. Take her to Eddie and Hank for a chat. Take her to Fortnum’s for a coffee where she can hang and Duke and me’ll look after her. Lottie, Roxie and Ava are free, so they’re gonna go over and sort out her place. You can come get her when you’re finished at work. We’ll make sure she gets lunch. I’m feelin’ Mexican, but that part of the plan is up for discussion. You down with that?”
His final words were a question.
A question directed at Mag.
Before Mag could answer, I curled toward him, and when I moved, he again looked down at me.