Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
On the line, in bold, black letters, she wrote: ‘No.’
Chapter 6
Easy stalked across the gravel lot, kicking up dust as he went. He skipped the coffee in the break room and went right to work, right to fucking up as well, apparently, because the torque wrench caught his thumb and peeled off some skin.
“God fucking damn it!” he shouted and threw the offending tool against the wall.
Shooter turned and looked at him from across the bay. Easy hung his head and went to retrieve the wrench, ignoring the black spot the impact had left on the wall.
“What’s up?” his former lieutenant asked.
Easy didn’t respond.
Hawk tossed a spark plug on the counter. “Got laid last night.”
Easy glared at the larger man as he returned to the truck he was working on.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Emilio teased. “Oh, wait. Yeah, it is,” he added, somewhat deflated.
Shooter’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” To Easy he said, “You know that’s supposed to have the opposite effect, right?”
“Just let it go.”
“The brunette that’s been all over you?” Shooter asked.
“No,” Easy snapped. “Just let. it. go.”
“Blonde that Maria just hired,” Hawk told the boss. “Cute. Plenty of sass. Good fighter, too.”
“Did she fight with him?” he asked, nodding to Easy.
“Nah. The brunette got all riled up when she walked in on the two them going at it in the bathroom. Took a swing at the blonde.”
“Oh, Christ,” Shooter muttered.
“It was just a fuck up,” Easy told them. “It’s not a big deal. It’s over.”
“Well, maybe-” Shooter started.
“Over!” Easy snapped.
If Shooter was irritated at being dressed down by his employee, his considerably younger employee at that, he didn’t show it. “Alright,” he agreed. “Over.”
Easy turned his attention to the engine and tried to forget about last night, the nights before it, and pretty much the last three years in general. He managed to succeed, for the most part, until lunchtime. He looked up as Sarah pulled into the lot and parked her SUV next to Shooter’s bike. Tex trotted out to help her carry in the meal she’d brought for them, while she wrangled Hope’s car seat.
Sarah was her usual bright self, which when he first met her, had irritated him to no end. Now it didn’t bother him so much. After all she’d been through, which was considerably more than Easy himself had endured, she deserved to be happy. And the little nugget she was hauling inside was the culmination of all Sarah Sullivan’s’ long-fought-for hopes and dreams, so the name was actually perfect.
She dropped the baby off in the office with Shooter and made her way to the break room. Easy followed her in to wash up. The plan was to eat, get back to work as quickly as possible, get home as quickly as possible, and then stay there, completely avoiding Brenda, the barmaid, and his brothers who, as much he wanted them to, probably would not let this whole thing go. It was simultaneously the best thing and the most annoying thing to have people who cared that much about you.
As Sarah unpacked lunch he caught her eyeing him. Easy dried his hands, sighed, and threw the towel at the sink. It was definitely a throwing things kind of day.
“Don’t,” he said.
“What?” she asked innocently.
Easy shook his head, not buying it. “I know he told you. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sarah scowled and turned to face him fully. “But what about Brenda?”
He tried to keep his face passive as he shrugged.
“I thought you liked her,” Sarah protested.
“Well, I don’t,” Easy told her, growing more irritated. He walked to the table and grabbed a plate.
“You did.”
“I didn’t,” he insisted. “I was just killing time. Then I killed time with someone else. Not a big deal.”
“Do you know her? I don’t remember hearing about her.”
Easy turned on her and glared. “Hearing about her? Does he fucking report in to you about every fucking thing I do?” he demanded.
“I just-”
“I don’t need you checking up on me.”
“I don’t check up on you,” Sarah argued. “I just worry-”
“Well, no one asked you to,” he snapped.
“Jimmy, you’re my-”
“I’m nothing,” he told her. “I’m just the guy who works for your old man.” This was a total lie, and they both knew it. After they’d gotten over their initial wariness of each other, which culminated in an actual wrestling match on his living room floor, they’d become pretty close- as close as a guy could be, Easy figured, with his friend’s woman. Right now he didn’t want a friend; he just wanted to be left alone.
Sarah put her hand on her hip in that way she did when she was about unload on someone. Usually she directed her ire at her husband, which was usually pretty fun to watch, Easy had to admit. He was not a good target, and today was not a good day. “Jimmy Turnbull, if you think-”