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)
But since he stood in front of it with his arms crossed, when both boys raced to him, they had to stop and skim by him to get out.
“I hear any word my boy Mal here has trouble with you two fucks, the shit you just bought escalates, do you get me?” he said as they slid by.
The heavy one looked away.
Aaron held his gaze before he took off.
Yeah, Aaron was trouble.
Shit.
Jag turned his head to watch them race down the sidewalk.
When he turned it back, Archie was in his space.
“Let me guess, the Harris brothers?” he asked.
Making a noise he liked a lot, because it was frustrated, but it was cute, she dug into the crook of his elbow to grab his hand, forced him to uncross his arms and then started dragging him.
“Dude, that was bad…ass,” Mal said as Archie pulled him abreast of Mal.
It was then, Jag saw others accumulating, all of them around the same age as Mal, boys and girls, different races, maybe a half dozen of them, all staring at him like an explosion happened in S.I.L. on the Hill and he’d formed like a god from the force of the blast.
“Help her out, bud, start pickin’ this shit up, yeah?” Jagger asked.
“Yeah!” Mal cried, like that was his most fervent wish, then he jumped to it.
“You know him?” one of the other boys asked Mal.
“Sure,” Mal replied casually.
Archie had no comment on any of this, mostly because she was fully involved in continuing to drag him.
Jagger let himself be dragged and he took the place in while he did.
It was not what he expected.
He expected a record store vibe with some kitschy shit thrown in, bargain basement-type décor that was cool because of some album cover posters tacked haphazardly to the walls with some vintage shit intermingled just to shake things up.
But mostly cool because Archie was cool, and it was hers.
It wasn’t that.
Oh, it was cool.
But it was a lot more.
First, it was big. Way bigger than he expected.
Second, the floors were covered in large, overlapping rugs and the overall feel was of a massive living room that was filled with a ton of dope stuff.
Helping this feel was the fact that there was some lounge lizard jazz playing not discreetly over the sound system, and if someone walked up to him and handed him a chilled martini he wouldn’t have been surprised.
There was a vinyl section with a sign over it that just had musical notes on it that hung cockeyed. Against the wall of that section was tailored shelving filled with old CDs.
Across from this, there was a section of freestanding shelves that had its own sign over it that was an opened book, and the section itself looked like a library with places to sit and read.
There were racks of clothes that surrounded a setup of a bedroom area (but was really a bed and a bunch of stuff for sale), one side with a big picture of Amelia Earhart over what had to be the women’s section, the Dos Equis guy over the men’s on the other side.
The rest of the place was filled with more stuff for sale, from furniture, glassware and lamps to gifts, candles, jewelry, kitchen stuff, and more.
Some of it was new.
Most of it was used.
Apparently, there was a lot of shit that Archie liked.
The way it was laid out was unique, appealing, and comfortable.
This was a store you hung out at and not only because there seemed to be a working, vintage soda fountain that had been either restored or resurrected against the side wall opposite to where they were going.
The place reminded him of Fortnum’s Used Books, which obviously had a shit ton of books, not to mention sold vinyl. But it had a coffee counter at the front. And you didn’t go to Fortnum’s unless it was to hit the coffee counter and grab the best coffee in the city…or to hang around because it was the kind of place where you wanted to hang.
And Jag wanted to hang at S.I.L., walk around, check shit out, and maybe get a cherry Coke.
Archie wasn’t gonna let that happen.
She was pulling him to a door that had no window, but there was a big square one in the wall beside it.
He was guessing it was her office.
He was pleased to see she didn’t leave it open, she had to dig in her pants to get the key (no mini-skirt, movie T-shirt and Doc Martens today (fuck him running)).
Nope.
She had on bright yellow oversize pants that hung sexy on her hips and were rolled up in wide cuffs at the hems, a tiny, white, ribbed tank that fit her like a second skin, and a pair of vivid green, spike-heeled pumps that he just noticed and the sight of them he felt in his dick.