Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“Fair enough,” Grandpa Casper replied.
“You know anythin’ about Myla’s little friend goin’ missin’ today?” Uncle Grease asked. “Tommy called askin’ if anyone had seen her, but we didn’t hear anythin’ else about it.”
“She was never missin’, just not answerin’ her phone. She’s fine.”
“Oh, good,” Uncle Grease said with a nod. “Figured I woulda heard somethin’ if they still hadn’t found her.”
Grandpa Dragon was staring at my face.
“What?” I asked, smoothing down my short beard. I needed to shave, but I’d been too lazy.
“You tell me.”
“Nothin’ to tell.”
“There’s somethin’ to tell,” he countered. “You’ve been makin’ that same face since you were three feet tall whenever you were tryin’ to hide somethin’.”
“Frankie was at my place,” I replied shortly. It had always been irritating as hell that he could see through me so easily.
“You’re fuckin’ Myla’s little friend?” Grandpa Casper asked in surprise.
“She’s twenty-five years old.”
The old men guffawed.
“And I’m not fuckin’ her.”
“And now you’re lyin’,” Grandpa Dragon said with a scoff. “Christ, kid.”
“Why the fuck do any of you care?”
“Because it’s entertainin’ as hell,” Uncle Grease replied. “Bumblin’ idiots, all of you.”
“I’m not fuckin’ her,” I repeated through my teeth. “She’s dealin’ with some shit—”
“I’ve heard this story before,” Grandpa Casper said, looking at Uncle Grease. “You heard this one before?”
“Too many times to count,” Uncle Grease replied dryly.
“She’s a friend,” I said, getting to my feet. I was too fucking old to get teased by a bunch of old men about my love life. They were too fucking old to even care about who was in my bed.
“Pretty wound up about a girl that’s just a friend,” Grandpa Dragon said seriously.
“I’m outta here,” I said, turning to leave. “I love all of you fuckers.”
“Love you, too,” Grandpa Casper called.
“Same,” Uncle Gasper added.
Grandpa Dragon didn’t say anything. He wasn’t the type to announce that shit to the world. He’d told me that he loved me more times than I could count, but it was never in a public setting. He’d said it when he’d helped me put the chain back on my bike in fifth grade. The night before I started kindergarten, and I was shitting my pants scared. When I’d wrecked my mom’s car at sixteen because some asshole had pulled out in front of me, and I hadn’t had time to stop. The day I’d quietly graduated from college. The first time I took him out to see my new property.
His declarations of love were private. They weren’t throwaway words or used lightly. When he said shit, you knew he meant it.
I rode until the wind and the feeling of the bike eating up the road relaxed me enough I knew I could sleep. Realizing that I was into Frankie in a way I wasn’t sure I could ignore worried the hell out of me. Recognizing that the age difference between us had been a bullshit excuse to keep myself away from her…was uncomfortable.
I’d parked my bike and was unlocking the camper when my phone rang.
Staring at the screen, I debated not answering it. Like an asshole.
“Thank you for today,” Frankie said without a greeting, her voice husky and low. “I know I keep saying it, but you’ve gone above and beyond. You’re the best.”
“Thought you were sleepin’,” I replied, climbing inside the dark trailer.
“I woke up right after you left because I got way too hot,” she replied. Blankets rustled.
She was vulnerable. She’d had an eventful and traumatic day. And I was a creep because I couldn’t stop wondering about what she was wearing.
“Thought you might,” I said, setting my keys and wallet on the counter. “With all those blankets on the bed.”
“I have the perfect amount of blankets,” she stated firmly. “Are you home now?”
“Just got back. Had to drop my mom’s rig at the club.”
“Why didn’t you just take your truck earlier?”
“Truck was at the house,” I explained, turning on the speakerphone as I pulled off my cut and hoodie. “Mom’s was at the club.”
“Oh.”
“It was no big deal,” I assured her as I pulled off my boots and jeans, stuffing the latter into the laundry bag I kept in the shower. “She and my aunt met up there, and they’d already left in Aunt Rose’s Jeep. She’d rather ride home with my pop anyway.”
“There is something to be said about riding on the back of a motorcycle,” Frankie replied, a smile in her voice. “That would be my choice, too.”
“Oh yeah?” I paused with my hand on the thermostat.
“I love it,” Frankie murmured. “But I always liked dirt bikes as a kid, too. My dad bought me one that was way too big, and my feet couldn’t even touch the ground at the same time. I didn’t give a shit, though. I grew into it eventually, and I swear I rode it into the ground.”