Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I didn’t have to lie to anyone anymore.
When we got our food, I held on to Chip’s for now, and I noticed Trace had dug out a twenty from his pocket. He eyed me carefully, half in question, and I smiled and shook my head. I knew he wanted to offer to pay as much as he understood this was important to me.
“Thank you.” He reached up and kissed my cheek.
Fuck me, I was so screwed.
How could one person be so fucking disarming that he could control my heart rhythm?
It was bullshit.
CHAPTER NINE
Trace Kalecki
I yawned and knew I had a decision to make. I could not choose violence today. This tape dispenser wasn’t gonna get the best of me—
“Are you fucking serious,” I whispered, yanking out my fingers from the tape clusterfuck. Maybe wrapping gifts wasn’t my strong suit. Jesus Christ.
Ziggy sat at my feet and wagged his tail.
“Not now, boy,” I grumbled. I’d taken him outside for a quick piss, I’d given him fresh water and a dog bone; that was enough for… I checked the time on the microwave. Fuck. Almost five thirty. I had to step on it. Ben’s alarm would go off in forty-five minutes.
At some point, Ben and I would need to discuss Ziggy’s future. We had a good deal going where Ben took the longer park walks and I took the more frequent down-in-the-alley or just-around-the-building walks, but the shaggy rascal deserved more than that. When Ben and I got off work, we were beat.
I knew one person who would accept him with open arms, aside from Chip, and that was my ma. She was retired, she would fuss over Ziggy all day long, and he’d have a big backyard to chase lizards in.
It might also distract her from obsessively checking the Citizen app to see if there’d been another shooting in Chicago. Which, more often than not, was a car backfiring. Just last night, she’d texted me to stay away from Near North Side because of an explosion that turned out to be fireworks.
Taking a step back from the counter, I inspected my handiwork. Three wrapped gifts. I mean, they were wrapped. That was all that mattered. No ribbon needed, ’cause the tape went all the way around in every direction.
The fourth present didn’t need wrapping paper because it was my mouth.
If he wanted it.
All right, breakfast. This was the easy part. I put two waffles in the toaster and hauled out the can of whipped cream and the fancy brand of strawberry preserves I’d bought.
I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. I’d snooped again. I’d texted his cousin the other day to ask if she knew his favorite breakfast.
While I waited for the waffles, I made quick work of very silently leaving the gifts on the coffee table in the front room. I poured us coffee, I brought out two plates, and I discarded the packaging from the birthday candles.
Forty-nine years.
I wanted the next forty-nine. Then we could die together and be buried at Wrigley so I could haunt our enemies.
That wasn’t too much to ask.
The waffles finally popped up, perfectly golden brown, and I dropped them on the plates. Ouch, that was hot. Whipped cream, spoon for the preserves, two mugs of coffee, candles, let’s go.
The rule to wake up Ben slowly still applied; otherwise, he’d get startled and brace himself for a fight. So I put down the food on the coffee table, no longer trying to be as quiet as possible.
“Is the birthday boy ready to wake up?” I sprayed whipped cream over the waffles—then obviously sprayed some in my mouth too. It was practically the law. “Ben?”
“You kiddin’ me,” he grumbled into his pillow.
“I’ll fucking sing,” I warned him.
I added strawberry preserves too, then stuck the 4 and the 9 candles into his waffle. My trusty Dearborn Clover matchbook got the job done.
“Happy birthday to Ben,” I sang. “Happy birthday to Ben. Happy birthday, silver Sox fox, happy birthday to—”
“Trace,” he groaned through a drowsy chuckle.
I grinned and turned on the TV, then promptly muted the sound.
“Come on, I got stuff here for you.” I sat down on the foot of the bed and squeezed his calf through the covers. “I know you don’t gotta take a leak first, ’cause you do that around three every morning—”
“Christ,” he grated out. He pushed back the covers, and I looked over my shoulder as he sat up, half disoriented, and squinted at me. Then at the setup on the table, then back at me. “Boy, what did you do?”
I smiled.
He scooted lower till he was right next to me, and he didn’t say anything at first. He just looped an arm around my neck and pressed his lips to my temple.
Keep going.
“You can’t be real,” he murmured.
Except, I was. And my whole fucking being screamed for more of his warmth. My hand was on his thigh before I could stop myself, and then I just left it there.