Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
I grunted.
“Even worse when it’s your woman, brother. Count yer blessings.”
“At least when it’s your woman, you can fuck the attitude outta her,” I put in.
He chuckled. “You’re single. So’s she. And that bunny ain’t hard on the eyes.”
“Understatement,” I muttered.
“Well, Jesse… Some brothers’d maybe give it a whirl. See if it works. It don’t, duck in case she pulls out a fryin’ pan.”
I laughed. So did he.
I stared at the house. I could feel her angry energy through the bricks.
“Help yourself to the booze behind the bar downstairs. Just don’t leave me bone dry in case we gotta get there without a stop on the way.”
“Brought some, thankfully, but much obliged.”
“Later,” he said, chuckling.
When I got inside the cabin, she was still putting food away.
“Yo,” I called.
Her eyes moved to me, and they were filled with fire.
“I just-”
“What. Ever.” She lifted a hand as she snapped the words, “Save it. You owe me nothing. Just stay out of my journals. That’s all I asked. All I asked! Can I please just fucking have that?”
I breathed deep while I measured my words, but before I could get any out, she slammed a cupboard, stormed past me, then she stumbled and tripped, falling flat on her belly. I rushed over and helped her to her feet.
“Fuck. G,” I started, but she pulled away almost violently, looking embarrassed along with angry, blowing a lock of hair hard out of her eyes, then storming the last three feet to Jojo’s bedroom door before slamming it behind her.
***
It was Tuesday afternoon and I’d only heard her once last night, heard water running in the bathroom. So unless she got something while I slept, and I’m a light sleeper so I probably would’ve heard her, I knew that meant she hadn’t eaten anything. I hadn’t seen her yet today, so I rapped on the door.
She opened it, looking up at me with fire still simmering in her eyes.
“I made food. Scrambled eggs and bacon. You want, check your messages with my phone. I’ll set up a hot spot.”
Wind knocked out of her sails, she looked down at her feet and croaked out, “Okay.”
I turned and moved to the kitchen while she cleared her throat.
I shot a gaze over my shoulder, and she stumbled, nearly wiping out again. And her face instantly reddened before she turned into the kitchen behind me and surveyed the half-full coffee pot.
“Made it hours ago,” I told her, “Probably sludge.”
She said nothing, but reached into the cupboard and pulled down a mug and poured herself a cup.
I’d already put her food on the table. I didn’t put mine there. Instead, mine was on the counter.
She put milk and sugar into her cup and grabbed a bottle of water, then sat and began eating.
I set up a hot spot on my phone, turned her phone on and made sure all location services were off before I logged her on and set it on the table beside her.
And then I leaned against the counter intentionally in a location that meant I couldn’t see her screen and set my attention on the plate in my hand, only letting my eyes wander between the plate and the picture window that led to the deck that butted the side of the cabin.
I had a campfire last night, figuring she’d come out. She didn’t.
I put a movie on in the living room after that, thinking I might see her, she might come sit and watch or grab some food. She didn’t.
I baked a frozen pizza and ate half of it, watched the movie, and then went to the bunkbed room and read almost half a paperback before crashing, leaving the door open. I only heard her in the bathroom that once.
So, I’d had some time to myself for the past twenty-four hours and though I typically dug alone-time, I found myself open to conversation. Seemed she wasn’t open to it, instead planning on holding onto her snit. Whatever.
By the time I finished my meal, she was still focused on her phone and on daintily eating scrambled eggs, bacon, and the toast I’d made with her special bread. I watched her for a minute, how she tongued that fork. How she licked her lips occasionally while eyeing the phone, then found myself pissed off at my fascination with the fact that she ate like it was part of a strip tease.
So I dropped my dish in the sink, stepped outside and had a smoke, then I was back, seeing her still at the table, still scrolling the phone while licking her goddamn fork. I stretched out in the family room with my copy of Bag of Bones.
She washed the dishes and the frying pans I’d left on the stove, leaving them to drip-dry in the dish drainer. And then she was standing in front of me.