Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 72669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
-Best Friend Fact
Masen
I’d been lying in my bed, a bed that was covered in Booth’s scent, when I realized that I’d forgotten to leave him the camera card.
Not wanting it to be washed if I forgot about it, I’d gone to get it out of my pockets when curiosity struck.
I slipped the camera card into the computer, not surprised that the camera had picked up over seventy pictures in ten days.
It was now ten in the evening.
Now here I was, reviewing the pictures that probably didn’t show a damn thing.
The first fifteen pictures were what you’d expect.
The first one was of Booth setting the camera up, his buff arms on display.
The second and third were of me checking the mail.
The fourth through the tenth were of the mailman and the UPS guy dropping off mail and packages.
The next four were of nothing but the wind swaying the trees.
The fifteenth, though, was of more importance than the rest.
It showed a black clad figure standing next to the box.
The pictures following it showed him smashing the mailbox to smithereens.
It’d taken him fifteen minutes to do.
He…or she since it was kind of a small build, beat the box with what looked to be a bat, spray painted black. But then they’d picked up the concrete flagstones decorating the edge of the box and finished it off later.
Then about five mail trucks later, there was my dad sweating his ass off to put a new mailbox up.
Which led us to today as I walked up to the camera and picked up the card like Booth had asked me to do.
Shaken, I pushed the computer off my lap and got up to pace my bedroom.
It took all of five minutes of me doing that before I was slipping my feet into a pair of Crocs, grabbing my keys and walking out of the house.
It was late, well past midnight.
Booth wasn’t set to be back at home for another eight hours, but I couldn’t just sit at my house. Not after seeing the pure rage in the man or woman that’d taken out my parent’s mailbox.
My first stop was to my parents’ house, just to make sure that everything was okay.
There was a mailbox now, the same one that my father had put up on the photos I’d just seen.
The truck was loud, so I didn’t put the camera card back into the camera like I wanted to.
Instead, I drove around my parents’ house using the oil road path that led to a couple of oil derricks that were at the back of their property.
They were used to the sounds coming and going down the road, at least lately.
The rig behind their house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Men worked tirelessly all over the place, and not one of them noticed me as I turned around in their rig’s lot and went back the way I came.
My eyes stayed on the road as I drove past my parents’ house once again, but they strayed to Dash’s parents’ house for a few short seconds, and I could’ve sworn I saw someone on the front porch.
But without actually stopping and turning around, I wouldn’t really know.
Then again, I didn’t really care.
Dash and his parents were weird.
So weird that I went out of my way not to talk to them just as much as I went out of my way not to talk to Dash.
I shifted into second gear, then third, as I passed the spot in the road where I’d hit the deer the day before…or whenever the hell it was. I was back asswards due to not sleeping well.
My stomach, however, wasn’t hurting.
After the initial surprise of having been gored by a deer, it only ached lightly like a scratch…or a piercing.
A large piercing, yes, but nothing more than that.
I was ‘lucky’ according to the doctor, that I had so much fat on my stomach, otherwise it could’ve gotten hung up in my abdominal muscles and been a complete different story.
Blah blah blah. So much fat my ass.
My eyes roamed the area as I passed it, annoyance surging through me that I even had to do it at all.
The area around my parents’ house was completely residential but for this one section of woods right before you turned out of the subdivision.
It was as if all of the deer population chilled out in this one area, making it nearly impossible not to see a deer where they really shouldn’t be.
The bells signaling I had a call started to ring in the cab of the truck, and I had to juggle the phone, the steering wheel, and the gear shift as I answered it.
People who drove sticks got used to driving with their knees, sadly.
“Hello?” I answered over the loud rumble of the engine.
“Where are you?” Booth asked without any pleasantries.