Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“This little play session came with a photoshoot of fun for collateral damage purposes.” Her slow, vile smirk successfully churns my stomach. “Would you like copies for your own personal case files, or will the ones I’m keeping to potentially share with your colleagues be enough, Mr. Garcia?”
Chapter 6
Salay
Silence isn’t my favorite shit – I prefer noise and buzz and commotion even underwater – but I don’t hate it.
You know unless it’s too silent.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Too void.
Or, of course, unless it’s awkward.
Or super fucking awkward.
Which this is.
Neither have said a word to each other since they got back to our rental beach house ten minutes ago.
And I mean…
Not.
A.
Word.
I could probably say something.
I can always say something.
Like me doing a rodeo flip on my board, it’s possible, but should be done with an air of caution.
Not that caution is a wave I really care to ride.
Nor is spectator a role I tend to wanna play.
Meaning I should say something.
And as much as I would love to wait for this shit to pop off like my bikini top when it’s time to sunbathe on a yacht that might not be the best call for our current work environment.
Then again…I wasn’t invited to join in whatever Titanic level of misery adventure they escaped to this morning – I wasn’t even told what it was in regard to – so maybe I shouldn’t feel compelled to aid in cataloging the wreckage from it.
Come to think of it.
Maybe I’ll create more.
Afterall, where’s the fun of the surf if there aren’t any big waves to catch?
Crossing one ankle over the other in the bar stool seats I’m occupying in the turquoise and marble kitchen occurs at the same time I poke, “Crabs got your tongues?”
Zero lets the corner of his mouth twitch upward indicating he’s not the one in a shit mood.
Meaning he’s likely the one who put the big, bad, attorney in a shit mood.
Meaning Garcia is the oyster to poke.
I just gotta find the right fork.
Don’t feel like doing it with my finger.
“Hungry?” There’s no ignoring the uncomfortable glance he shoots the other male in the room, an action that prompts me to taunt, “Horny?”
Shades of red burst through each of their complexions in tandem, yet only one appears to be embarrassed.
And I gotta admit.
I’m not surprised.
Wish I was.
Not quite to my fairy goddess shit but still.
It’d be nice to see him behave a bit differently than everyone else my sperm donor goes booze cruising with.
“Ohhhhh,” my bottom lip pokes outward in a fake pouting fashion, “did I miss shrimp on the barbie for brunch?”
“My dick isn’t that small!” Zero immediately proclaims, offense undeniably apparent in his pitch.
“Is his?” I salaciously torment while toying with the end of one springy curl.
“Idontknow,” hastily leaves the younger man’s mouth, “we didn’t get to swit-”
“I’m drinking this,” Garcia gruffly announces as he swipes the unopened bottle of tequila near the stove. “Alone.” Tugging harshly at his lapel begins during his retreat backwards out of the space that has a little too much wicker for my liking. “En otra parte.”
“I don’t speak Spanish,” is sassily stated in his direction, glare equal parts snarky and saucy.
“It means elsewhere,” Zero sullenly translates, shoulders falling to the floor.
Rolling my eyes is thoughtlessly done. “And thank you for the lesson, Diego.”
“Zero.”
“Seriously?” Not sneering isn’t an option. “You don’t get that reference either?” The innocent shaking of his head leads me to grumping, “You’re lucky you’re hung.”
Another round of crimson coats his cheeks at the same time he airily croaks, “Howdoyou-”
“The look on Moby-Prick’s face when I tried to imply otherwise.”
Hope briefly flutters through his gaze convincing me to do something slightly out of my cyclone like nature.
“Come on, Captain Ahab,” I playfully begin prior to hopping out of the seats. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Why ice cream?”
“Because your cum whale-”
“Sperm whale.”
“-took the only bottle of booze in the house, and everyone knows the next best thing to booze is ice cream.”
Once more, a smile threatens to slide into place. “What if they don’t like ice cream?”
“Then I don’t like them.”
“What if they can’t have ice cream?”
“Then froyo.”
“What if they can’t have that?”
“Then gelato.”
“Or that.”
“Then a fucking snow cone, which is just sugar and ice and disappointment.” My hands flop down onto my low-rise jean shorts sporting hips. “Now, do you want a treat or not, Little One?”
“I hate when you call me that,” he declares alongside needless fiddling of his leopard printed shirt.
Snatching a housekey out of the turquoise, storage bowl and tucking it into my black and white polka dot, vintage style bikini top barely precedes me arguing, “No, you don’t.”
“I don’t,” Zero immediately surrenders, entire body sheepishly crumpling, “but one hundred?” His bright gaze bores freely into mine. “I feel I should. Like…it’s cringe, you know?”
“What’s cringe is you saying the word cringe instead of just fucking cringing.” Light chuckles leave us both before I grab my jeep keys. “Hope you don’t mind that pretty hair of yours getting messy. I prefer to keep Neptune topless.”