Lib Novel Page 71
“That’s all you, boys.” Shelby raises her hands in the air and slowly backs away. “Jigsaw, I’m happy you’re home.”
“Thank you.” I point at Shelby and cock my head Rooster’s way. “See, that’s how you greet someone.”
Once she’s in the house, Rooster crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. “So, where were you?”
I mirror his pose. “None of your business.”
He strokes a hand over his beard. “Uh-huh. Why were you at a car show out in Johnsonville?”
Christ, how’d he figure it out? A picture of Rooster sitting at his laptop searching Google Maps to match up the background in the photo I sent him forms in my head.
“I googled the diner in the background, dipshit,” he confirms.
I tug on the collar of my shirt. “This feels kinda stalkerish, brother.”
He continues staring at me but doesn’t apologize or explain himself. “You thinkin’ about getting another cage?”
I glance over my shoulder at my old, beat-up Toyota 4-Runner that I only drive when the weather forces me to. Margot doesn’t ride. If I ever want to pick her up, I should probably get something a little nicer to take her out in…
Take her out? What the fuck? Where did that come from?
We’re not dating.
Rooster waves his big hand in front of my face. I shake myself out of whatever fevered daydream took over my brain there for a second.
“Yeah, maybe,” I finally answer. “But I saw that truck and it made me think of Uncle Boone, that’s why I sent it to you, not so you could grill me on my whereabouts.”
His harsh expression fades. “Yeah, that was way too pretty for Uncle Boone, though.”
“That’s what I said too.” I cough and look away.
The back door squeaks open. “Jiggy, you want steak fajitas?” Shelby calls out. “Rooster said he’d fire up the grill tonight.”
My mouth waters. Whatever mystery southern spices she uses on the meat always tickles my taste buds. “Hell, yes, I do.”
“Got it!” She raises one hand in the air in a half wave and disappears inside the house again.
“Hey, instead of grilling me, how about you get that grill going, brother?” I jerk my head toward the far end of the patio where Rooster has a Weber three-burner grill stationed. “I’m ready for some steak.”
The next day, I’m at the laundromat, watching Eazy pull apart and clean the lint traps and vents. So far, I’ve had him mop liquid detergent a screaming kid spilled all over the floor, and wipe the tables, chairs, and doorknobs with disinfectant—twice. He hasn’t complained about the manual labor, and he’s done a thorough job. Could be he has a good work ethic or that he knows Z’s gonna ask me for a report later.
My phone buzzes. Expecting it to be Rooster or Dex, I pull it out of my pocket.
Little Lady Death.
Much better than the Last Responder name I’d originally listed her under.
A picture appears. A close up of Margot from her mouth down to her chest. My cock pulses like he wants to immediately hunt her down and impale her. I recognize her because I’ve spent so much time studying those pouty lips that I’m dying to shove my cock between. Next lesson.
My gaze drifts lower. A hint of the swell of her breast peeks through the V-neck. I didn’t look at her gorgeous tits nearly long enough the other night. Maybe I should break oral into two lessons. First, I’ll teach her the joy of having her tits covered in cum. Then, a lesson on how to swallow every drop.
I may have missed my calling as a professor.
I can’t stop staring at the photo. It’s not racy compared to the pictures most women send me. But I can’t stop staring at it. Is she wearing the gray shirt she finished me off with the other day?
Me: That cleaned up nice.
Little Lady Death: I’m going to think of you every time I wear it.