Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The Mustang drives up just as I’m getting started. Wonderful. I get to have an audience when I struggle with the bags. The sun is especially cruel today, so I squint and pretend not to see him. Shane slides out of the driver seat and lowers his glasses, staring directly at me. This doesn’t look good. His expression spells trouble.
He slams the door shut with enough force for the driver of the delivery truck to notice and make a face. Then he crosses over to the porch of the guesthouse, takes his sunglasses off, and places them on the green Adirondack chair. His Rolex watch soon follows. Then comes the leather strap he wears on the opposite wrist.
I’m spellbound watching him strip. This is the state of affairs these days. I get turned on watching a man remove accessories. He’s taken, I remind myself and get back to work, jumping into the open back of the truck.
The glare he sends me while he marches over is chock-full of hell, fire, and brimstone. He’s wearing an army green t-shirt and jeans, but it’s like 90 degrees, so he must be roasting. I’m sure that’s adding to his mood.
“Where’s Aidan?”
I stop what I’m doing and wipe the sweat beading above my mouth with the collar of my t-shirt. “Are you seriously asking me that?”
His attention darts to the driver who’s still kicking back in the cab of the truck. “Wait here,” he tells him, leaving no room for argument. Then he stalks off, heading straight for the trailer.
Naturally, I climb out of the back of the truck and quietly follow. There’s a promise of fireworks and I, for one, don’t want to miss a minute of the show.
Shane rips open the door to the Airstream and all hell breaks loose.
“Hey…” I hear Aidan loudly mumble. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t think they sounded like they’d just woken up. But it’s Aidan, so I know he just woke up.
“What the fuck… who the fuck is this?” Shane very distinctly shouts. Pretty sure they heard him in Utah.
Then I hear, “Melissa was just leaving.”
Ummm, Melissa?
“You’re not allowed to have any visitors, Aidan! What part of the judge’s orders did you not understand? Did you understand any of them?”
“She’s my assistant.”
“Your assistant always jump into bed with you?”
So much for leaving the trappings of fame in L.A.
There’s a pause. Then, “You wanna do the time in county lockup, that’s your business. What you will not do is dick around and abuse the goodwill of that kid and the old lady.”
Umm, kid? Old lady? Mona can run circles around these two insufferable jerks in her panties and bra with one arm tied behind her back.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll do double the work to make up for lost time.”
“And if I don’t?”
Another heavy pause. “Look, man, I’m trying to help you, but you seem hellbent on destroying your life… I dunno. I dunno what to do with you anymore.”
“Fuck you, Shane.”
“You’ve already done that.”
The door bursts open and smashes loudly against the side of the trailer. I leap back, startled and out of breath. Shane fills up the doorway and stares at me for a beat, expression locked under key. Then he marches toward the truck.
Kid? That he thinks of me as a kid would be funny if it wasn’t so painfully offensive. He has no idea who I am, what I’ve experienced in my life. I’ll never understand why dour people assume happy people are simply less intelligent or immature. Last time I checked, wearing your suffering on your sleeve doesn’t win you any diplomas.
And why am I a kid? Because I still have the ability to smile and enjoy my day? Being happy in spite of life is not a superpower. We can all get there if we try.
In the words of my best friend, super shiny silver lining. He’s broken the spell. I’m no longer intimidated. Just like that, I’m back to me at almost-thirty again. A grown-ass woman.
By the time I get back to the truck, he’s already jumped in the back, lifting bags of feed and placing them closer to the edge to load onto the dolly.
“What are you doing?” my lips finally spit out.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says as he jumps down from the back of the truck and slings a fifty-pound bag of feed over his shoulder.
“Unloading. You don’t have to… I got it handled.”
I struggle to lift a bag out of the back of the truck, pulling and dragging it over the edge. It falls to the ground and kicks up dust. Because Life has taken it as a personal challenge to find new ways to embarrass me in front of this man.
Shane takes hold of my shoulders and gently moves me aside. Picking the feed bag up with ease, he dumps it on the dolly.