Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
In between Trouper yelling at his son, Hiro, to stop fighting with the dog, Banger looked over at me and whispered, “What’s the big deal with her being pregnant again?”
I flashed a grin at her before returning my eyes to the road.
“Trouper and Beckham just had their third child about a month and a half ago,” I explained. “Meaning, they’ll have Irish twins.”
“Isn’t it six weeks before you’re even supposed to have sex again after childbirth?” she asked. “How the hell did that happen?”
“My wife can’t keep her hands off of me,” Trouper answered Banger’s surprised question. “And who might you be? Easton didn’t tell me that he was with some girl.”
Banger was too busy snickering at Trouper’s pronunciation and emphasis on the word ‘girl’ to answer him.
So I did.
“Trouper, this is Banger, my tenant,” I answered for her. “We’re currently driving cows home in her sweet as fuck big rig eighteen-wheeler truck.”
And it was sweet. The first time I’d seen it, I’d gotten a chubby. And vehicles didn’t even do it for me. It was all blacked out and looked like a death machine on wheels.
“Banger, who drives eighteen-wheelers for a living,” Trouper mused. “How did you manage to get some cool chick to talk to you?”
Banger slapped her hand over her mouth and started to laugh silently.
“Trouper, I’m more than capable of pulling in cool girls to talk to me,” I told him with heat. “I’m a cool person myself.”
“No, you’re not,” Trouper disagreed. “You’re an introvert that is cool on the outside, but has trouble closing the deal because you’re a little bitch and think that if you talk to a girl, you’ll dissolve into fairy dust.”
I sighed. “Trouper, why do you have to be the way you are?”
Trouper started to chuckle.
Before he could say anything at all to the contrary, a loud thump, followed by a moo, had me staring in disbelief at the hood of the truck.
Why?
Because there was a goddamn cow standing on it, and it’d fallen from the trailer that I honestly didn’t know had an opening anywhere but at the back end of the trailer.
“Oh, fuck,” I said in disbelief. “Troup, I gotta go. A cow just fell onto our truck.”
“What?” Trouper asked, sounding confused.
“A cow just fell onto the hood of our truck. Gotta go.”
Then I hung up on my brother and stared some more.
“What the fuck do we do now?” Banger whispered.
I had no fuckin’ clue.
Needless to say, we only added to the chaos already on the freeway.
Oh, and I got to drive the truck.
CHAPTER 8
I’m not sure how many cookies you have to eat before it makes you be happy, but so far, it’s not seventeen.
-Banger to Easton
BANGER
“Do you know how to drive one of these?” I asked curiously. “Or have your CDL?”
I grinned at her. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do have my commercial driver’s license. I got it when I was working a case at a school. I was a bus driver, and I was collecting evidence undercover on a man that was supposedly the principal of the school.”
“You sure have led an interesting life,” I admitted. “I’m sure you’re full of a lot of cool stories.”
His face closed down a little bit, and I wondered if I said something wrong.
In the end, I chose not to ask him again and instead focused on all the notifications I was getting on my phone.
From Salem mostly.
Salem: You made the news.
Salem: *sends link*
Salem: I’m the sister of a famous person. Your legs look hot. Oh, my God. Mirabel can’t stop complaining about how much attention you’re getting right now. It’s the best ever.
Salem: Who’s that hottie with you? Holy wow, he just picked that cow up like it was nothing. Where’d the blood come from though?
I looked at Easton and focused on where his shirt was covered in blood.
“Did you forget to tell me something?” I asked, pointing at his shirt.
His brows rose. “How did you see it?”
I wiggled my phone at him.
“We made the national news,” I said, returning my gaze to the screen as I watched the goddamn cow fall from a broken latched door at the top—why that was even there, I didn’t know—to the hood of the truck. “We have eight million views already on YouTube.”
He grinned. “Did I look hot?”
“So hot,” I lied.
He looked fuckin’ frazzled.
As had I.
I mean, he had to climb up my truck and stop the other cows from following the lone dumbass—which two had already started to try.
Luckily, the one that’d fallen had been a mere baby, meaning he was able to get him back into the truck without too much of a fuss.
But at some point, he’d hurt himself again.
“What’s the status on your cut?” I asked. “Is it open again?”
He shook his head. “No. I looked. I almost busted a stitch, but it’s still in place.”