Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I try to go every other day, but work is demanding, so it’s hard to stay consistent,” Chelsea said, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“What do you do?”
“I’m an anesthesiologist at Beach General Hospital.”
Rayne eyed Chelsea’s long fingernails.
As if she was used to that response, she waved her hand in his direction. “Oh, these are just press-on nails. I can pop them off like stickers and do my shift.”
“I’m not employed right now, so I have a lot of time to study mind wellness. Yoga is my favorite by far. I love it,” he confessed. “I’m just getting started myself. I learn from books and magazines to help me with the poses.”
“There’s tons of YouTube videos, but we both know the rules on that.”
Rayne held up his cheap flip phone that only made and received calls. He had no data plan and a limited four contacts in total. Maybe after today, he’d have five. But it was safer if he had no access to the internet. It equaled fewer temptations. Rayne wished he could get more personal instruction on his new passion, but the books would have to do for now.
“Maybe you can join a studio. There’s so many in the area that do intro and beginners classes for like a hundred bucks a month.”
Rayne pfft’d. “For one month. Yeah, I’m tight on funds right now, and I’m kinda running out of things to pawn.”
“I get it.”
They were quiet for a moment, and he knew she was waiting on his story. And he wanted to share it so badly. He groaned out loud as she laughed around her glass of water. “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. I know I’m a complete stranger, but you can totally spill all of your deepest secrets to me. Trust me when I—”
“I use sex as a weapon,” he blurted like an idiot.
Chelsea blinked her thick false lashes and cocked her head to the side. “Care to elaborate?”
Rayne took a deep breath as he ran his hand through his hair. He turned his gaze upward to pray for strength, his eyes wandering over the beautiful pastel murals decorating the towering ceiling. He could do this; he could tell her. And maybe if he could start with one person, he could open up to others too.
Chapter Eight
Mike
“Yo, Manny. You wanna grab a beer and some wings or something from Bull’s place tonight?” Mike asked his friend as they loaded their equipment back onto the trailer. It’d been a bitch of a week, and he wanted to unwind, not go home and sit there in front of his television alone. “Maybe shoot some pool after?”
“Nah, bro. Not tonight.” Manny groaned. “I’m sore as fuck, and Lisa promised she’d take real good care of me tonight. And knowing that she’s home waiting for me in that hot red number she pulls out when I’ve worked overtime is the only thing that got me through this shitty day.”
Mike wasn’t a hater, but fuck, that shit sounded nice, someone waiting for him at home to care for his aching body. “I feel ya on that, man. It’s cool.”
“Are you dipshits doing anything tonight? I’m up to whupping someone’s ass at bowling,” Mike suggested to his twelve-man crew. They were an eclectic group of throwaways between the ages of twenty-two and fifty who couldn’t get hired at a McDonald’s with the extensive records they had. But Mike had never had a more hardworking, loyal brotherhood since he’d left the gang life. They had another crew of nine guys who did the smaller properties, but Mike and Manny kept the big boys with them on the commercial contracts.
“Fuck off, Mike. I’m going home to soak my damn feet for the rest of the night and not think about any of you ugly motherfuckers until Monday.” Marcus, the oldest of the crew, flipped them all off and headed toward the truck, where he’d sit in the back seat and complain until they were back at the garage to unload.
The others pretty much mimicked Marcus’s feelings, walking with limps and slow gaits. Yeah, this week was a rough one—the start of summer was always their busiest time of the year. The lazy winter months and reduced hours always made his crew sluggish, and he had to whip their asses back into shape for the season. It was freaking pathetic how much these grown men were whining.
Mike’s sigh of disappointment wasn’t loud enough for them to hear. Only three of the guys that worked with him weren’t settled down, but even they had girlfriends they shacked up with on the weekends. No one was thinking about his lonesome ass.
Closing up the shop for the evening had been quiet and uneventful. They usually had a few taunts and laughs at the end of the day, but everyone seemed too beat down to even open their mouths. They gave him the wave-off as they got into their vehicles; a few had bikes and rode off, leaving him by himself to lock up.