Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Why, oh why couldn’t they just fuck? It was just sex anyway.
“I can’t believe you manage to lift those massive tires surviving on fake food. That shit’s radioactive,” Ezra said, trying hard to keep his gaze north when the breeze carried Frank’s musky, salty scent in his face. For a moment, his tongue felt too thick for his mouth, but when Frank met his gaze with eyes like two coals, he willed himself to produce more words. “This is not good enough. If you treat your training seriously, you need to improve your physique with proper food.”
There, plant the idea that he’s not all that perfect. Make him fight for your approval again.
Frank glanced at his thighs with an empty expression. “You don’t like my food? I told you, you can cook whatever you want…”
Ezra cocked his head. “For someone who’s clearly into being a big, strong man, you don’t really dedicate a lot of attention to nutrition, do you? And I’d gladly cook for you, but with what? All you have is ready to plop onto the plate.”
Frank frowned and downed the tea, then… threw the glass at the nearby pile of crap. It broke against an old car engine with a sharp sound. “I eat lots of protein.” He huffed and crossed his arms on his chest as if what he’d done was in any way normal. Sadly, the new position only made his massive pecs and biceps more imposing. The change in atmosphere turned him from hot-big to scary-big, and Ezra feared that the glass needed to shatter so that his nose could remain intact.
The damp fabric covering his body seemed to tighten around him as his breath quickened. Still, he managed to keep up his smile. It was always best to go with things, to not ruffle feathers or confront men stronger than him, but tension was running high and frustration got the best of him.
“I didn’t mean to criticize you. I just want to help you with your goals, and eating a lot of protein shakes and bars won’t get you into top form. You need healthy food. I can make it for you, but for that I need the right products.”
A part of him wanted to be under Frank even more now, because even the deadliest predator wouldn’t attack the object of his desire.
Frank rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Okay, but I can’t take you into town. Make me a list and I’ll see what I can do. Dex is coming over in the evening, I should be able to send him shopping.”
Dex, Frank’s elusive nephew, who had already failed to arrive for two days in a row. Just great.
Ezra opened his mouth, but then a stronger gust of wind made him shiver, and tickled his nose until he sneezed. “Sure.”
Frank’s eyebrows rose when he assessed Ezra from head to toe. “Are you wearing wet clothes?”
Ezra sighed. “Yes.”
Frank shook his head and pointed to the door as if Ezra was a dog. “Why? I told you, you can wear mine while yours are drying. I know they’re too big, but what’s it matter for a few hours? And didn’t I give you one of Dex’s old hoodies?”
Oh yes, the red and purple monstrosity with a cartoon poop pattern. No, thank you. Ezra might be in a dreadful situation, but he hadn’t yet lost his dignity.
“I wear your clothes when I’m cleaning, but they don’t fit me. These make me feel good,” Ezra said, peeling the damp sweater away from his stomach.
Frank urged him inside with a gentle gesture that was nothing like the barely held-back fury with which he’d thrown the glass. “Okay, well, there’s a pile of used clothes someone brought the other day. They’re in a shipping container, so they wouldn’t have gotten wet. I’ll ask Jag if it's safe to go there.”
Used clothes? From a junkyard? Was this Ezra’s life now? Could Frank not see that Ezra was withering from the inside?
He wanted to protest, but Frank frowned and raised his hand to shut him up as he looked toward the wide road leading here from the gate. And then Ezra saw it too—a van heading their way. Tension passed through his body, but it dissipated when Frank’s face relaxed.
“Should I hide?” Ezra asked to be on the safe side.
“Nah, my buddy Shane is finally back from a dog training course he organized. He’s the one with the house by the North gate.”
Over the few days here, Ezra got some basic information on the setup of the massive junkyard, including a very stern request on where he shouldn’t go. Most places really. Frank claimed it was for safety but Ezra had no doubt the rules had more to do with hiding illegal activities from him than anything else.
Shane was a man Frank had known half his life, and he lived at the junkyard with his boyfriend Ros, who was a sculptor, though Ezra had his suspicions that anyone who lived here, including Jag and his man, Dane, was knee-deep in crime.