Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Ah. So … your phone went into my profile, scrolled to that photo on its own, and then hit the like button? I mean, I know they’re called smartphones, but I didn’t realize they were that smart.”
“You’re so funny. I was looking you up is all.”
“Mmhmm. Find anything interesting?”
“Nope. Anyway, how was therapy? Did he end up turning you into a chicken?”
“No, no, don’t change the subject now.” He grins.
“Oh, look at the time. We should go now if we want to make it home in time for dinner.” I turn the keys in the ignition, the engine roars to life, and I peel out of the parking lot like my ass is on fire.
I think he’s dropped the whole thing, but then I glance over at him again and notice he’s staring intently at the photo of him and Parsons.
“Were you close?” I ask quietly.
“Was that jealousy speak for ‘Do you have a habit of fucking your teammates?’ Parsons is straight. Was … was straight. But a good guy.”
“Did … did you talk to your therapist about wanting to remember what happened to him?”
“Yeah. Today’s session was light getting-to-know-each-other-type questions and what I want to get out of it. He thinks he can help me.”
“Do you think he can help you?”
Saint shrugs. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”
“That’s good. And, as a reward for being such a good little boy, I’m going to take you to do my second favorite thing.”
“Second favorite,” Saint mutters. “First, I’m guessing is sex. What’s your second?”
“Spending money.”
I only wish I could get my phone up fast enough to take a photo of Saint’s exhausted expression when I pull into a street filled with car dealerships.
“Oh, so spending my money.”
“You’re slowly catching on.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saint
“Where are the used car lots?” I ask.
Iris gasps. “Unless they’re a classic car, you have no business buying one.”
“Classic cars are expensive. I only need something that will get me to work each day and back.”
“Fine. Be practical. But at least get a certified used car from a dealer. Used car salesmen are the worst.”
He drags me into the first one, a Mercedes dealership, and leads me straight to a G-class. I see the price in the window and turn around and walk straight back out.
“There’s a Chevy place next door. I’m gonna go there while you daydream about me spending the same price as a house on a damn car.”
“Eww, Chevy is inferior to Dodge. Ooh, you could get the newer version of my baby. And then we can tell people my car gave birth to your car.”
“Pass.”
Iris stops me from walking any farther and turns to me, his hands landing on my shoulders. “I know this is hard for you—it’s technically laying down roots. But we’re not leaving until we get you a car.”
I grunt. “Fine. Take me to your Dodge dealer.”
“Good boy.” He pats my head.
“I’m not a dog.”
Iris cocks his head. “Ooh, no puppy role play for you, then? I could be your master.”
“I think I’d rather dip my balls in honey and set a swarm of bees on them than ever let you be my master.”
Iris wipes away a fake tear. “You say the sweetest things to me. Our relationship is going so fast. We might need to slow down with the affection.”
We enter the Dodge showroom, and someone immediately comes to ask us if we need any help.
“Show us your Chargers,” Iris says.
“Ignore him. Where are your pre-owned vehicles?”
“You’re ruining shopping day for me,” Iris whines.
The salesman smiles. “Right this way.”
He takes us back outside and around the building, where there are steps leading underground. There’s a full garage down here, but I can see why they don’t keep these cars on the same floor as the new ones.
I go by each one, not even caring what type of car they are. They don’t just have Dodges down here but all makes and models. I’m looking for the cheapest. When I find a Jeep Renegade under twenty K, I point to it. “I’ll take this one.”
“You’re not even going to test-drive it?” Iris asks.
“Nope. Wrap it up. Or put a bow on it. Whatever you do when someone buys a car.”
“What kind of engine does it have?” Iris asks the sales guy. “Say, for instance if he were to get in a car chase, would he have a chance?”
“Like I said. Ignore him,” I say.
Iris turns to me. “Excuse me, but who has actually been in a car chase this week?”
I glance at the guy and then back at Iris. “Not me. Nope. Not at all.”
“You haven’t even looked properly,” Iris says.
“I don’t need to.”
“Let’s get the paperwork started,” the salesman says.
All the way back up to the showroom, Iris taps away on his phone.
“Dude, this has a reliability rating of two out of five on this site. It says it’s ranked seventh of nine Jeep models.”