Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Anthony, surprisingly, makes a face at them. “Yeah, and can’t you see we’re eating?”
The woman seems undeterred by his rudeness—or else didn’t catch his tone in all the noise of the place. “I’m Jessie. This is my friend Veronica. We’re staying at the—what’s it called?—the Spurs Inn down the road. We’re here all week.”
“Spur Inn,” Noah quietly corrects her, “singular.”
“You got any plans tonight, stud?” asks Jessie, ignoring Noah. “We were hopin’ someone might show us around town. There isn’t much to do around here.”
If Anthony’s face could wrinkle up any more, he’d turn inside-out. “D’you not hear me? I’m eating. And I’m not a tour guide.” He scoffs, finding that funny, crumbs fluttering from his full mouth.
It’s only now that our new friends Jessie and Veronica appear to consider whether Anthony is worth the pursuit at all. When the two ladies glance at me, I give them an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, it’s been a long day for him. If you’re looking for something to do, I might recommend Tumbleweeds, which is a great restaurant and bar within walking distance to where you’re staying, or there’s the Spruce Cinema 5, if you like movies, and my personal favorite, the Strong Fitness Zone, though I might be a little biased, since I work there, but you can get a great workout, or just—”
“Movies and dumbbells ain’t the kind of entertainment these ladies are lookin’ for,” says Anthony with his mouth full. “Take a hint, Cole.”
Jessie turns her back on Anthony. “Thank you, Cole, for your polite recommendations. I think we might catch a movie tonight. We’re … sorry for bothering you guys. Veronica?” She nudges her friend, who looks slightly less forgiving, judging from the look she is giving Anthony right now, and the two of them leave.
Anthony snorts. “These fuckin’ women, am I right?”
I frown. “Anthony, we have to be more respectful, even if they intrude a little into our lives. This is a fundraiser, remember? We want these women to actually bid on you. Not to mention that we are all representing Spruce, and we don’t want to be … um …”
“Dicks,” finishes Noah for me, not caring to be tactful.
Instead of being insulted, Anthony finds that funny. “So? I’ve been called worse than a dick. I don’t care. I’m just tryin’ to enjoy my burger here, and that’s that. Why should I change who I am for these weirdos in town? Why should …” He changes his tone as he looks at us. “Why should you guys change how you act?”
Noah and I exchange a look. “How … we act?” I mumble.
“C’mon, guys, who do you think you’re foolin’?” He snorts. “I can see it written all-the-fuck-over y’all’s faces. The way you guys look at each other. All your secret things. Whatever it was you two were doin’ during the photo shoot. I saw it.”
I continue to stare at him, the last bite of my burger hanging in my grip. Noah is similarly without words.
Anthony shakes his head, appearing not to push the issue any further. “Whatever, you guys can do whatever the heck you want, don’t matter to me. I’m just gonna finish this tasty burger and … and keep bein’ me.” He looks away.
Honestly, I’m surprised.
Is the thick-as-cement Anthony Myers actually telling us that he knows we’re a thing? And if someone like Anthony is able to see it so clearly and thinks it’s so obvious, then who else does? The whole production team behind this pageant? Anyone else in town who has seen us out and about over the past several weeks?
Are we really fooling ourselves?
Apparently Anthony can’t get enough of us. He grows clingy after we wrap up our meal at Biggie’s, complaining again about his “old bitch of a truck”, then asks us what we’re doing tonight. I tell Anthony I’ll be happy to drop him home, but then he complains about how his “jerk-off dad” won’t “get off his ass about this and that”, and it becomes increasingly clear that he doesn’t want to go home. Noah suggests he just hangs out with us a little longer. “It’s a mathematical certainty he’ll get bored and beg to go home,” Noah whispers to me while we stand on the curb outside Biggie’s Bites, Anthony fiddling on his phone and muttering to himself nearby.
And that’s how the three of us end up in my backyard.
On a blanket I had set out intended for just me, Noah, and my cuddly dog Porridge, with the romantic idea that Noah and I might enjoy stargazing with my dog.
Oh, how so quickly plans like to fly out of windows lately.
“Fuck,” moans Anthony, sleepy-eyed, as he pets Porridge. She seems to enjoy him, her head resting on his chest. “I miss my dog so damned much, man, you have no idea what this is doin’ to me.” Anthony squeezes Porridge and closes his eyes. “My dog was the sweetest dog in the world. Didn’t judge anyone. Loved me whether I was a screw-up or not. Cuddled with me just like this.” Anthony’s eyes fill with tears. “Fuckin’ Lyme fuckin’ disease bullshit … I’d do anything to … t-to have my dog back … give anything …”