Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“I wish more people thought it through like you have.”
I stand and pat off the dirt. “Anyway, thanks for letting me hang out. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“I’ll head back inside with you.” I notice how she pops a piece of gum and wonder if she’s decided to give up smoking since the last time I was here.
When we get to the lobby, there’s a familiar figure waiting at the front desk.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I take Rocco’s arm and drag him away from Mae and her employee’s prying eyes.
“Wow, testy.” Rocco’s chuckle is hesitant, like maybe he had his doubts about showing up too but then somehow convinced himself it was a good idea. “I wanted to see this place for myself.”
“You wanted to check up on me,” I reply, trying not to sound so terse, but his visit has thrown me and seems a little underhanded. Why is he dead set on this one sale in particular? “I’ll be home on Sunday. You could’ve waited.”
“Maybe I also needed a weekend away,” he says, and I roll my eyes. Rocco rarely does anything without intent. “Anyway, I met your guy.”
“He’s not my guy.” I clench my teeth as I lead him to a bench in the lobby. “What did he say?”
“He knew who I was.”
“Well, duh. He’s smart, and you stick out like a sore thumb.”
He straightens the lapels of his jacket. “Suppose I do. Now come on, show me around. Or at least feed me. I’m famished.”
I reluctantly lead him up to my room, where he’s lucky there’s a second queen bed. He washes up and changes into jeans and a button-down shirt, but it does little to diminish his sales-guy look. It’s always been that way with him, whereas I need to try a bit harder. It was Rocco who suggested the nice suits and the decked-out BMW. He wasn’t wrong, but they never quite felt like me.
“There’s a place in town with good burgers,” I say as he follows me to my car. I purposely drive through the town center to show him the charm of it, though he doesn’t point anything out or even say much. I could’ve chosen a different place to eat than the Witching Hour, but I’m hoping to convey to Johnny that Rocco showing up wasn’t my idea. In turn, I hope he somehow gets the message to Jack.
Turns out I can deliver the sentiment myself because he and Frank are already there, sitting on barstools, with beers in front of them. And sure, a little part of me hoped that would be the case, so I guess I got lucky. But when I see Jack’s expression sour, I steer Rocco across the bar and toward two seats far enough away that Jack doesn’t think we’ve timed our arrival to accidentally-on-purpose bump into them.
“Hey, Aaron, what’ll you and your friend have?” Johnny asks, and I have no doubt Jack already told him who Rocco is.
Ever the confident businessman, Rocco introduces himself before we order drinks and food. To Johnny’s credit, he acts like he’s hearing about my business partner for the first time.
I try not to look at Jack across the bar, and it seems he’s having the same problem. My fault for not thinking through our seating arrangement.
Rocco and I make small talk while we sip our beers and wait for our burgers.
“It’s a nice little town,” Rocco says blandly, which tells me he’s not impressed. And I get it. I wasn’t either at first glance. “Not that it matters what I think. It’s all about that service station.”
I grit my teeth, ready to defend Aqua Vista, when Frank’s voice rings out. “Rocco, is it?”
“That’s right,” he replies as my eyes dart to Jack.
“I’m the mechanic at the service station. Was curious about the make and model of your ride. An LC?”
“An LX 600. It’s only a year old. Got a good deal,” he admits, like paying a little less than an exorbitant amount of money for a car is something to be proud of. Not that I can talk. “Sweet, right?”
“Definitely. Especially the…” I tune them out as I focus on Jack, who’s clenching his jaw between sips of his drink. I try to catch his eye, but he’s not having it. I sigh and tune into the last bit of their conversation. “Well, if you ever need any work done…”
“If we owned the station, we could keep you on—both of you, in fact,” Rocco responds, and I kick him under the stool. “What? It’s true, and we could bring in more business too.”
“Jesus Christ, stop,” Jack says, his voice wrought with frustration.
I can feel the other bar patrons staring.
“Excuse my asking, but what exactly is your holdup?” Rocco persists. “Maybe we could come to some sort of middle ground and—”