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)
But Edison couldn’t be deterred from his topic of goddamn twenty-first-century science fiction authors. His eyes were bright with wonder as he gazed up at nothing, as if the book was a movie playing in his head—a movie he wouldn’t be quiet about. “This next installment, The Right Hand of Light, is from the protagonist’s point of view, not in the third person, and we now get to see the apocalypse of Candor’s world through his—”
“Will you stop talkin’ crazy, Edison? I have serious shit to talk to you about,” Mike whispered sternly, not wanting Trent or the rest of their company to hear him.
Bishop continued doing his job, his hands covered in Dawn soap suds as his broad shoulders bounced with his deep laugh. “My dad doesn’t like reading, babe. I keep telling you that.”
“He just hasn’t found the right book yet.” Edison rattled off that same weak argument he always used.
“Are you shittin’ me right now?” Mike stared. “Edison, listen, I need to ask you a favor—well, actually, a couple of favors—and I don’t have much time.”
“Sure, anything.” Edison nodded.
Bishop stopped washing the dishes and turned to face him. It almost felt like Mike was looking in a mirror at himself in his prime. “I wouldn’t speak so fast, Eddie. If Mike is asking you for a favor, that means he’ll owe you. So it might be something big.”
“Well. I don’t believe your dad would ask me to do anything I couldn’t handle.” Edison thought for another second; then, as if a lightbulb came on in his mind, he added, “I think I like the idea of Big Mike owing me a favor.”
“Smart man.” Mike raised an assertive brow in his son’s direction, glad that he didn’t object any further.
Edison gave him his full attention. “What are the favors?”
Mike sighed a quick breath of relief. He was already set to begin laying the groundwork on his plan to make Rayne his own, but he was going to need some help. His journey would take a while, and he wasn’t confident enough in what he was doing… yet. Bishop came and stood beside Edison, absently caressing his back, showing support no matter what.
Mike wanted what he saw right before his eyes. He was glad his son had found a heart to love that was as good and nurturing as Edison’s. He treated Mike’s son like a king. Fed him well and stimulated his mind to want to learn. Mike couldn’t wish for a better son-in-law.
And that’s all he wanted too. Someone who would be there for him and didn’t care about the shitty past he came along with. Someone he didn’t have to pretend for. Mike was a grumpy, unyielding, no-good motherfucker… but he didn’t feel like that around Rayne. Mike deserved something good too, and he was going for it.
Mike didn’t think about the mild level of deceit in the favors he was requesting behind Rayne’s back and asked anyway. If it would make Rayne happy, Mike would lie and deceive all goddamn day for him. “First one. Are there any entry-level temp jobs available at that fancy law firm you work at?”
Edison thought hard for a moment, then slowly began to shake his head. “I don’t believe we—”
“Before you answer,” Mike urged, lowering his voice, “think really hard.”
Edison’s eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple dipped low and bobbed back up as he stuttered, “Um… like how temporary do you mean?”
Mike hadn’t had time to iron out a full plan while he’d listened to Rayne talk to Edison in the library about his interests and goals. But he already knew that Rayne had been looking for work, and he knew he loved books. That was a good start. Now Mike also knew that Rayne wanted to practice or learn more about yoga, and he’d just discovered fifteen minutes ago that Rayne might want to pursue credits to get his massage license.
Mike didn’t let his thoughts stray too far about what parts of him Rayne could massage with those long, lean fingers and instead ignored the pulsing in his neglected balls.
“Maybe for a few weeks. Something part-time with good pay.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Bishop stared, moving around to the other side of the breakfast bar to face him.
Mike disregarded his son’s comment and kept talking to Edison. “Entry-level job, nothing too lawyery, all right?”
Edison rubbed his smooth chin with his palm. “One of the receptionists in the front is about to go on six weeks’ pregnancy leave. We weren’t going to get a temp in there, but I can convince them to hire someone temporarily.”
“Receptionist.” Mike grimaced, not sure if Rayne would like the sound of that.
“Yes. Receptionist,” Edison reiterated. “It’s only nine to one, Monday through Thursday, pays fifteen dollars an hour, it’s in a fun office environment, and there’s no weekends.”