Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
The fire my bomb caused.
I could mock him, say he still has the other nine to pick his nose, but that’s what Butcher Clyde would do. It’s no longer my job to antagonize every Vulture I meet.
I clear my throat. “Does it help that I was in a weeklong coma with broken ribs?”
Yeti’s thick brows lower, and his lips open, as if he were surprised. “Yeah. Actually, it does.”
For a moment, we stand in uncomfortable silence, so I stretch my social muscles. “So… you like to grill?” Not the smoothest segue in the history of conversation, but it’s a start, a little white flag, which seems to be welcome, as he turns the chicken on the grill and mutters.
“People just aren’t good at cooking meat. I can’t count the times I ate it prepared by someone else, only to get something too raw, or dry, or not salty enough. Don’t trust any meat I didn’t cook myself.” He sighs and looks straight at me, offering a flag of his own, though I’d call it pink rather than white. “Hope you don’t eat yours well done.”
I’m glad I have the bottle to give me something to do with my hands. “No, I’ve got standards, but Road once left a chicken breast in a pan and forgot about it. That thing was charred and dry as wood chips, but he ate it and said it was ‘protein’.”
Yeti’s eyes shut, and he exhales, as if the weight of the world has just dropped on his wide shoulders. “That sounds like him. Man has a stomach like a trash can. Each time everyone got sick eating something shitty on the road, he was always fine.”
I don’t have to fake my laugh. “He should be called Raccoon, not Roadkill.”
Yeti’s lips twist into an almost-smile. “So… you and him. How long has it been going on?”
We’re entering thin ice territory, so I tread carefully. “Two months or so? Feels like longer.”
Yeti hums, his unibrow becoming even starker when he frowns at the hot dogs in front of us. “I guess you being gay and all means I never really knew you, so maybe we can start a clean slate.”
Weight drops off my chest. I wasn’t expecting that much, but maybe the Vultures are more open-minded than the Butchers. Does the communal living do that to you? Make you more willing to compromise?
“Hello, boys,” a woman says, approaching us with a huge mug topped with dense foam. I don’t have to smell it to know it’s beer. “Won’t you introduce me?” she asks Yeti and flashes me a wide smile, which, I note, is like a miniature version of Yeti’s. They have the same wide teeth and mouths.
The biker clears his throat and waves a thick hand in the space between us. “My lil’ sister, Luce. And I’m sure you know exactly who Clyde is,” he adds, frowning at her.
Unbothered by his annoyance, she pushes the beer at me. “You’re new here, so you’ve got to taste my brother’s brew. It’s a rite of passage!”
I raise my eyebrows at him and grab the drink. “You brew your own?”
It’s borderline cute how this big guy gets flustered. “It’s not a big deal. Just good beer.”
But I’ve got no doubt he’s waiting for me to drink some, so I don’t waste time and take a big gulp. I won’t even have to lie. “It is good beer!” I have another gulp. “You’re gonna have to show me how the production is set up.”
I swear a smile is hiding somewhere in that bushy beard. “If you’re still here next week.” He might be saying it that way to sound more threatening, but it’s not an outright rejection. “Listen, man the grill for a bit. I need to go wash these.” He waves with the tongs which had earlier dropped to the ground.
His sister reaches out. “I can do it.”
“You never do it right. I will not be risking cross contamination.”
I have to bite my tongue to not comment on that. “Sure, I can watch over the food.”
He ends up giving me a long fork. “It’s not as good for the purpose, but it will do. I trust you this time, so don’t fuck up,” he adds and walks off with his sister.
I stare at the utensil, overwhelmed by the amount of trust placed in me. Yeti either genuinely wants to give me a chance or is planning to see me fail and shame me in front of everyone. Well, if it’s the latter, I’m not going to give him a chance.
I get to work, watching over each piece of meat as if they were the eggs of a golden goose. While I keep seeking out Road in the crowd, worried what may happen if someone seizes the opportunity to catch me on my own, nobody approaches to make sausage-swallowing jokes. It feeds my hope that maybe, just maybe, I can have a future here, living openly with a man who cares for me as much as I care for him.