Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
They rescued me.
And now I rescue clients for them.
Post their initial reuniting moment, I meet up with Blu and journey over to the nearest parking lot where our transport vehicle is waiting for us. He grabs the key cleverly tucked in one of the rims and immediately pops the trunk. His first instinct is to ditch his gear. Get into more comfortable, less restricting wear, especially shoes.
But mine?
Mine is to call her.
To hear her voice.
Let her hear mine.
Exchange a few words after having to go so long without a single one.
I mean I love what I do, but I hate that it keeps us apart.
Retrieving my cell from my black bag in the back receives the expected eyeroll, which is easy to ignore, especially considering how long we’ve been working together. I hit number two on my speed-dial – although we both know she’d be number one if it weren’t for voicemail – and anxiously listen to the ringing.
The first is typical.
The next uncomfortable.
The third has me shuffling my feet in concern that’s instantaneously soothed by her sweet, sing songy voice, “Slater…”
Arlette “Arley” Carmichael is the only woman outside of my ma I’ve ever let call me Slater.
Only woman I probably ever will.
“Ah, there’s my Angel Cake,” I coo in return causing Blu to impishly shake his head. “Was gettin’ worried you’d forgotten about me.”
“How could I ever forget about you?” she sassily giggles, sound effortlessly infiltrating my senses.
Cleansing them.
Buffing out the bumps and bruises and broken bits that only she can even fucking reach.
Benefit and burden of being in love with your best friend, I guess.
Relief winds itself around my ribs at the same time I playfully say, “Guess what?”
“Mission complete?”
“Yup.”
“And it was successful?”
“Affirmative.”
“And it’s time to put a cake in the oven because you’re finally headed back to me?”
Smiling wide can’t be stopped.
God, I love that me being away is equally as painful for her as it is for me.
We say shit like “finally” in spite of the fact it’s only been two days.
Two days, which for the record, always feels like years.
And three days always feels like decades.
And anything more?
Fuck…that shit feels like eons.
Light chuckles are attached to my response, “You know me so well.”
“I know you better than anyone else.”
True.
She knows everything about me except what my dick looks like.
And…I guess…that I fell in love with her six years ago despite knowing we would never work out.
Could never workout.
She’s beautiful and bright and brilliant and breathtaking and so beyond anything in my league I honestly question how the fuck I even got lucky enough to be her friend let alone her best friend.
“Midnight snack?” Arley curiously questions, faint typing beginning in the background, an action that calls to my brain to envision her toffee brown fingers caressing the keys the way I wish they would occasionally caress me. “Couple shots of tequila and an episode of Crime Scene Kitchen?”
The sigh that leaves me is coated in defeat, “Nah. Gonna have to be a wake and bake. Got a long drive back to Dalvegan, and we both know Blu doesn’t believe in breakin’ traffic laws.”
“A drive by, motherfucker?” my other best friend grunts in amusement. “Really?”
“Wake and bake it is.”
Hearing similar sadness in her tone somehow enhances mine. “You know I’d be clinkin’ forks with you earlier if I could.”
“You mean fighting over forks.”
“I mean you could let me land Airfork One every now and again. I’ve more than earned it.”
“Hey, I let you rock out with my heavy metal finger fork just last week!”
“And it cost me the last piece of that Heaven on Earth Cake, remember?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Convenient.”
“You know what’s not convenient?” More giggles grace my ears, melting my frame for a second time. “Not knowing what topping my Cowboy in shining armor wants on his baked treat.”
Her.
But she doesn’t have to be on top.
She can be on bottom.
I don’t mind putting the extra work in.
Feeling my cock stir uncomfortably in its wet suit confines is what causes me to fumble out, “What um…whatever you want. Surprise me.”
“I love to do that.”
The tiniest bite of my bottom lip is stolen. “I know you do, Angel Cake.”
“And this time I’ll be baking an Angel Cake.” Arley snickers, warmly sighs, and then asks, “Text me soon?”
Of course, I’m gonna text her.
I always text her.
When I’m hanging out with Blu.
Guys from work.
Ma.
Before dates.
After them.
Even once in the middle of sex, but only because it was an emergency, and the chick was blindfolded.
Okay.
It was sort of an emergency.
She wanted to borrow my truck to help T – one of her brothers – move his old desk to their cousin’s place.
Alright, so maybe it wasn’t a real emergency but her mixed up letters and overuse of exclamation marks made it feel like that.
“Text you?” It’s my turn to playfully tease back. “Isn’t that that thing you were supposed to do to me this mornin’? Where are last night’s game scores? You know it killed me havin’ to miss the first official game of the season.”