Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“It’s my day off, and this is work.”
“Fine, but go away. I’m done talking.”
I was starting to feel itchy. I wasn’t going to be able to sit still much longer. I needed to be out in the middle of nowhere, but I’d promised Dax and Travis I’d stay at their house.
Eric must have sensed that I was getting jumpier. He rose and brushed sawdust from his knees. “Don’t I at least get a thank-you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Thank you for fixing the fucking floor. Now go.”
“You’re fucking welcome.”
His laugh caused flutters in my stomach, but at least he finally headed out. When the door closed behind him, I sank to the floor. Hope jumped on me, and I held her tight, rubbing her ears as I tried to figure out what the fuck was going on with me.
Moments later, Hope was in her crate, frantically licking peanut butter from another one of her toys—that damn dog had more equipment than most kids—and I was in the car headed to Lance’s condo. When I pulled into the parking garage of his building, there were no available visitor spaces, so I took the spot reserved for his most annoying tenant and headed up to see Lance.
Normally, I’d talk to Dax about this situation with Eric, and I was supposed to bring my concerns to Remington, but before I talked to him, I needed someone else’s opinion, someone less… bound by obligations. Lance was currently my best option.
After I’d rung the bell for a second time, Lance’s boyfriend, Julian, opened the door wearing a sweatshirt that must have been Lance’s based on its size. I wasn’t sure he had anything else on.
“Hi. We were… I mean…”
I smiled at him. “No need to explain. Lance, get the hell out here.”
“Ambrose?”
“Yes. I need to talk to you.”
“This isn’t a good time.”
“I can see that.” I winked at Julian, and his cheeks turned even more pink. “I can’t wait for a better time. Carlotti’s taken over LePlatt’s business.”
Julian’s face went white, and Lance growled as he stomped out of their bedroom. “Don’t say that name in front of him.”
Tony came running out from the extra room Lance had turned into a playroom for him full of ropes to swing on and climb and a little trampoline. The monkey chattered wildly, waving his arms as he ran toward me.
“You know you don’t scare me, little monkey.”
He shook his finger and screeched at me, but I just squatted down and gave him a smirk. “All I have to do is offer you a treat, and we’ll be friends again.”
“Then go do that while I talk to Julian,” Lance barked.
I turned to Julian. “I’m sorry. I should have waited. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Lance looked at me like I’d grown another head. Damn Eric. He had me trying to act like a normal, caring human being.
Is that really a bad thing?
“It’s all right. Lance has a way of making people forget anything but yelling at him.”
I snorted. “Damn right.”
“I was just shocked. I shouldn’t have been.” Julian tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt.
“Of course you should have,” Lance said. “You shouldn’t ever have to hear that man’s name again.”
“Were you just going to hide this from me if I hadn’t heard it?”
Lance ran a hand through his short hair. “Ambrose, get the hell out of here and let me talk to Julian.”
Julian rolled his eyes, but he let Lance lead him over to the couch. I held out my hand to Tony. “Come on, monkey. Let’s go get a snack.”
“He has a fucking name,” Lancelot said.
I ignored my cousin and followed Tony, who had raced into the kitchen ahead of me, climbed up a barstool, then sat there ready and waiting. I pulled a bag of mango chips, his favorite snack, from the cabinet where Lance always kept a large stock and placed several pieces on the counter. Tony attempted to pick them all up at once, greedily trying to stuff them into his tiny mouth.
I opened the refrigerator and searched around for something for myself. After finding a beer and a pan filled with leftover lasagna, I grabbed a fork from the drawer, sat down next to Tony, and tucked right into the pasta.
“Jesus,” Lance said when he walked in. “Can’t you use a plate? I don’t want your germs all over all that.”
“Who said they’ll be any left?”
“There damn well better be.”
“You’re the one who sent me to get a snack.”
He glared at me. “Just tell me what you know.”
He got his own fork, took the stool by mine, and dug into the lasagna as well. So much for being afraid of my germs.
Tony obviously didn’t want to be left out. After stuffing the last piece of mango into his mouth, he hopped up on the counter and raced over to examine the lasagna. Lance offered him a forkful, and he swallowed it down far more gracefully than he’d eaten the mangos.