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)
Mal’s gaze darted to her hopefully.
He wanted another shot at group.
“Seriously?” he asked.
Jag also looked to her, and when Mal was finished, he repeated, “Seriously?”
“Stay out of this, J,” she muttered.
“If the kid’s stealing from you, babe, just sayin’,” Jag returned.
Her head ticked and she focused on him. “Babe?”
“Babe,” he confirmed.
That was when A looked heavenward.
“Are you guys, like, together?” Mal asked, his gaze darting between them.
“Mind your business about J, Mal, and answer my question,” A demanded.
But Mal was still busy looking between “Arch” and Jag.
“It’s weird, he’s biker, you’re punk, but I see it,” he decided. Then he said to Jag, “I’d call her ‘babe’ too, because she’s totally a babe.”
“Mal!” A snapped.
“Nothin’,” he whispered, and Jag wasn’t a huge fan of his sudden change in tone or the look on the kid’s face. “Nothin’. Just messin’ around, keepin’ to myself. Hangin’ at the laundromat sometimes. But the Harris brothers—”
And Jag did not like the way “Arch” responded to the words “the Harris brothers.”
He shifted in a way he was closer to her and the kid.
“They know I’m loose and they’ve been givin’ me shit,” Mal finished.
“Why don’t you go home?” A asked.
The kid hung his head, and if there was a rock to kick, he would have.
“Mal,” she pushed.
He looked up at her. “Mom’d know I was home if I went home, you know?”
Oh shit.
“That was part of our deal that I didn’t share what went down for it to happen,” she said low, also now visibly seriously pissed. “I trusted you, Mal. You promised and I trusted that you would tell your mom you’d left group.”
“She’d be disappointed, Arch.”
Christ, with the way he said that, now Jag felt for the kid.
It took all of two seconds for A to say her next.
“You’re back in group, but I swear to God,” she pointed at him, “you blow it again, I’m going right to your mom. Do you hear me?”
Mal nodded.
“Give me the backpack, J,” she ordered Jagger.
Jagger handed it to her.
She unzipped it, took a big box out of it that had a picture of a game controller on it, complete with carrying case and other shit (Who needed a carrying case for a game controller? What? Did folk take their controllers on vacation?).
She handed the backpack to Mal.
“Back to the store, brother, your mom’s not home for at least an hour.”
Mal nodded to A, swung his head to Jagger, then he looked back to A.
“Why hasn’t your man been at the store?” he asked.
“Back to the store, Mal,” she demanded. “Now.”
“Whatever,” he replied, but he didn’t move.
“That’s backtalk, not walking back to the store,” she pointed out.
Mal rolled his eyes.
A crossed her arms, still holding the big box in a hand.
“Whatever,” Mal repeated, then started walking out of the alley.
A and Jagger watched him.
But A did it shouting, “And I’m not punk! I’m not anything but me!”
Mal said nothing in response before he turned the corner and disappeared.
When he did, afforded an opportunity he hadn’t had in a very long time, and not about to waste this one like he did the others, Jagger got right in her space.
“First, what’s your fuckin’ name?” he asked.
“Archie,” she returned, bellying right up to him in return.
Archie?
“What’s your fuckin’ name?” she asked back.
“Jagger,” he told her. “Your name is Archie?”
“Yes, my name is Archie. Your name is Jagger?”
He grinned at her. “Touché.”
She didn’t grin back.
“Now…store?” he continued.
“I have a shop, about seven what I’ve recently discovered are very long blocks from here.”
“A shop?”
“A shop.”
“What kind of shop?”
“Albums. Books. Home stuff. Gifts. Local artisan things. Shit I like. That’s why it’s called S.I.L.”
“Your shop is called Sil?”
“S.I.L. on the Hill.”
He’d heard of it.
He’d also heard it was fucking awesome.
But he wasn’t a shopper so he’d never been there.
“Okay, then,” he went on. “Lionel Richie koozie?”
“It has his picture and ‘Hello, is it me you’re looking for?’ on it.”
Jag busted out laughing.
Yeah, he’d never been there, but it definitely sounded like her shop was awesome.
“Jagger,” she called.
He pulled his shit together, doing this primarily because he liked how his name sounded in her mouth so much he couldn’t focus on anything else.
He gave her his gaze, but before she could say anything, he asked, “Group?”
“There’s folks in the ’hood, where I live, where my shop is, who can use a break. I give ’em a break.”
“What kind of break?”
She shifted, and her body language shifted with her.
She also vocalized this change.
“Jagger, you don’t get twenty questions.”
“I just chased a kid into an alley for you and got called a pedo. Repeatedly.”
“I would have caught him.”
He shot her a look.
Then he vocalized that look.
“Babe, you were goin’ down. I saved you two hundred bucks.”
“I guess that’s the least you could do after you left me high and dry for four years.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Say what? High and dry?”