Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 94897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Right there.
“No,” Jagger answered his question.
“Boy,” Hound said with disapproval.
“I’ll get a run in tomorrow morning and a stretch in after,” Jagger promised.
Hound nodded.
“And this girl?” he prompted.
Jag shook his head. “I can’t go there unless I know I’m gonna go there.”
“Yeah, that’s why she’s pissed.”
Jagger blinked. “Say what?”
“Because you’re fuckin’ around and you either need to stop fuckin’ around or cut her loose.”
Jag said nothing.
Hound did.
“And just sayin’, son, she doesn’t wanna be loose. I don’t know what’s happenin’ with you two, but no woman gets pissed at a man she wants loose from. She gets pissed at a man she’s tight with, or wants to be tight with, or wants to be tighter with. You got years under your belt with this one and only asked her name today, however the fuck that works, one thing I know, however it works, it means you’re jackin’ around. She needs you to stop jacking around, Jagger. She needs you all in or to get the fuck out. That’s your decision. That’s why I’m sittin’ here across the bar with you. To figure that out. Are you all in, or are you tapping out?”
Annnnnnnnd…
This was why Hound was right there, and not Dutch.
Because Dutch was a together dude. Smart. Wiser than his years.
But he might not get there, to what Hound just said.
And if he did, if Dutch laid it out like that, it’d get under Jag’s skin and Jag wouldn’t get where he needed to go.
Because Hound was right.
That was why they were both there.
“I want in,” he said quietly.
“What’s holding you back?” Hound asked, but before Jagger could answer, Hound went on, “And don’t give me more of that imposter shit. She’s the one, right?”
Fucking fuck.
It wasn’t like Hound ever delayed cutting to the chase.
But Jesus.
“Hound—”
“You knew that when you were visiting with your dad and saw her across the way. And it wasn’t about your dad bein’ dead and her mom bein’ the same. You just knew.”
That was crazy.
“I was sixteen and she was maybe fifteen, tops.”
At that, Hound’s brows snapped together. “Who gives a fuck how old you were?”
“You can’t know a girl’s the one when you’re sixteen and you never spoke to her.”
“Well, your dad knew, and he wasn’t sixteen, but he knew, no doubt about it. He saw your mom and that was it. He was done. And you are his boy. It’s just how it is with the Black men. You watched it happen with your brother and Georgie, do you doubt it?”
That was the rub.
Because his last name was Black.
But he wasn’t a Black.
“Answer me, Jag, do you doubt it?” Hound pushed.
He gave Hound what he was looking for.
“No, I don’t doubt it.”
Hound watched him closely.
Then, unusually, he read Jagger wrong.
“You got oats to sow, you cut her loose, and pray like fuck when you’re done wasting your time doin’ shit you woulda preferred doin’ with her, that she’s still there.”
Having that day in the alley with Archie, knowing her name, seeing her with that kid, knowing something deeper was happening between Archie and Jag, having known that for a long time, and knowing she needed him, the idea of doing anything with anyone other than Archie did not appeal to him.
Not anymore.
He knew how to have a good time and spent a fair amount of it doing just that.
And now…
Christ, was she the one?
Was he a Black?
At least with this?
“When’d you know Mom was the one?” Jag asked.
“Second I laid eyes on her,” Hound said before throwing back a swallow of beer. When he was done, he finished, “But she was your dad’s then.”
“Yeah,” Jagger replied.
So he could also be like the man who raised him.
He could be an Ironside.
Jag dropped his head and focused on his bottle.
“You wanna know what I think?” Hound asked.
Jagger tipped his head back to look at his dad.
Then Hound told him what he thought.
“I think you’re in. And I think if you walk away from this girl, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And I think I’m here to tell you that because you need another voice sayin’ something you already know.”
“That’s what I think too,” Jagger admitted.
Hound nodded, and again he did it only once.
“Then I’ll look forward to havin’ her over to dinner and celebrating with your mom that she can finally stop worrying about you because she’s feelin’ you shoulda been done sowin’ those oats about five years ago.”
Jagger grinned at him.
His mother had never been at one with the way Jag tackled life, considering he’d always been about wresting as much of it as he could for his own.
Dutch was the quiet, responsible one.
Jag was…
Not.
Hound reached out and caught Jag by the neck, gave him a squeeze, a shove, then let him go.
And Jagger felt better.
“So, what’s her name?” Hound asked.