Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I said. “Now, this is brand new. I just bought it today. It should be fine.”
Five minutes later I had another piece of chicken dangling in front of my face.
This time, it really did smell bad.
I dropped my head to rest on the kitchen table and said, “That one smells bad.”
“Now that I know the difference between good and bad,” he said. “I should’ve fuckin’ used the old chicken.”
I picked my head up about an inch and dropped it back onto the table.
My jaw nearly exploded with pain.
“Jesus Christ, you’re being dramatic,” he grumbled as he walked away. He came back moments later with the other package of chicken. “This one is bad, too. Who the hell taught you how to buy chicken?”
I felt my eye twitch. “I did the grocery pick-up,” I explained. “They picked out my chicken.” I paused. “But, even if I had gone in and bought it myself, I would’ve still gotten the chicken. You can’t tell the shit is bad without actually opening up the package.”
“Well, you should take it back. Right now,” he said. “We can’t cook with no chicken.”
I growled under my breath, stood up, and went for a trash bag. After the chicken was loaded, I snatched my car keys and left without another word.
I was in line at the grocery store return center when I saw Banks in line with his own cart full of groceries.
I didn’t have time to look and study him, seeing as I had so much freakin’ shit to do that it wasn’t even funny.
I had no idea what I was signing myself up for when I agreed to help my father. I hadn’t realized that by me leaving to pursue my business it would leave him in a bind. A bind he was clearly not willing to admit that he couldn’t handle on his own.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t realize I had someone standing at my side until the lady behind the customer service counter said next.
I looked up only to find her staring at someone at my side.
I frowned and looked up. Then up some more until I was staring into Banks’ amused eyes.
“You’re lost in your own head today,” he said. “Something wrong?”
I rubbed my eyes with my one free hand, then walked up to the counter and placed the chicken on it before handing her my phone. “I just bought this today through grocery pickup.”
“My tooth hurts,” I admitted. “Since I left, it’s done nothing but bother me.”
His mouth tightened. “I’ll follow you home.”
And he did, starting in the moment we walked in the door.
“Did you make it to the dentist today?” he asked curiously.
I nodded.
“Yes, but they didn’t find anything wrong. Everything looks great.” I sighed. “They prescribed me some toothpaste that’s supposed to help with sensitivity. Told me to come back if it started hurting again, and he’d take another look at it.”
He curled his hands around my back and dropped his forehead to rest on top of my hair.
“Seeing you in pain sucks,” he admitted.
I smiled, even though I wanted nothing more than to cry.
Yes, my tooth hurt that bad.
“Being in pain sucks,” I muttered darkly.
He grinned, then withdrew a pill bottle from his pocket. “I know that this is illegal as hell, but I have some Vicodin from when I was skewered by a bull two years ago. Do you want to take it?”
I snatched the bottle from him, then popped one dry.
“I guess that means yes.” He laughed. “Let me finish dinner.”
I didn’t argue with him.
Instead, I allowed him to do what he would in the kitchen—I was fairly sure my father had fished out the not-ever-bad-in-the-first-place chicken from the trash—thank God we’d just put a new trashcan liner in.
It was as I was finishing up the last of the billing and bids that my eyes started to droop. And for the first time in eight hours, my tooth finally didn’t hurt.
Then Banks put a plate of macaroni down in front of me, and I started to cry.
“Baby,” he said, tilting my head up. “Why are you crying?”
I only cried all the harder. “You made me macaroni!”
“Don’t worry about her,” Dad said. “She has some really terrible reactions to pain meds and anesthesia.”
I frowned. “I do not. I’m a perfect creature.”
Dad ignored me, so I started to eat my macaroni.
Only, Banks had forgotten to give me a fork, so I picked up each individual noodle with my fingers and started placing it carefully into my mouth.
Banks chuckled and brought me back a spoon as Dad started to explain some random story about my wisdom teeth.
“I had to go back there with her during the surgery,” he said. “Before it even started, they began giving her an IV. It had some Ativan, or calming medication, or something in it. She didn’t calm. Not in any way at all.” Dad started to chuckle. “She freaked the fuck out. Had the idea put in her head that I died, and I had to go into the room to assure her that I wasn’t dead. Her mother tried to calm her, but that didn’t work. She called me. I waited until she was out before leaving and coming back again.” He started to laugh. “It was a good thing I came back, too, because when she came out of the anesthesia, she came out swinging. It was the funniest thing in the world.”