Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
His stoic nature doesn’t deter as he repeats himself, “He is currently inaccessible.”
She prepares to lunge forward to continue her instinctive verbal poking, prompting me to stick an arm out and ask, “Do you know when he’s expected to return from the other activities he’s attending?”
At that, the male – whose name I didn’t bother to mark to memory – meets my stare. “Within the hour. The open bar and kitchen will suffice to occupy you in his absence.”
“We’ll be back then,” I insist and motion my head for the three of us to dismiss ourselves from the section. Once we’re out of earshot, I huddle us together near one of the pillars and inform the others, “He’s most likely downstairs where they host prohibited physical events for large sums of currency.”
“Did you just legal jargon underground fighting?” Garcia scoffs.
“That was weird,” Salay sneers.
“How do you know about it?”
“Legal’s his thing,” she interjects on another gag.
“Have you done it?”
“Computers are yours,” leaves her alongside a gentle tap to my chest.
“Have you bet on it?”
“Do,” a second touch is delivered, “you.”
“Is this going to be another legal shitshow I’m gonna have to rescue you from?”
Irritation instantly fries the circuits of amusement Salay’s sweet scolding is trying to provide leading me to point a stern finger near Garcia’s face. “Stop acting like I’m some endangered species of leopard that can’t fend for himself, that has never fended for himself or doesn’t know how to fend for himself.” There isn’t even time for his mouth to open before I’m biting his head off again. “And stop acting like you don’t get off on being wanted – or needed in other cases – to play the fucking hero because it gives you purpose in your otherwise bleak, tequila fused existence.” His mouth barely opens courtesy of me continuing, “I choose to let you in. I choose to let you help. I choose to let you give a fuck, so stop mislabeling my choice to let you into my OS as a necessity due to my own incompetence on how to navigate such a complex system.” Rather than let him rebut, I shift my stare to Salay. “How’s that for doing me?”
She kisses her pinched together fingers and lets them go in a “chef’s kiss” fashion.
Keeping it 100?
That feels good to hear.
Telling Garcia…anything…has never been easy for me.
But she definitely has helped.
Helps.
“Uncle Fester mentioned open bar,” Salay impishly reminds, “and drinking on Prince Chad’s dime-”
“Thad,” we correct in tandem.
“-is the type of shit my beloved overlord Captain Jack Sparrow would insist we do, especially after he ripped us away from the first real meal of the day.”
“Does that mean we have to drink rum?” I practically whine, fingers hooking to hers. “To honor the pirate?”
“Yes.” Slightly being pulled towards the nearest bar precedes her adding, “We have to drink rum, dance in foam, and then you two,” her free hand wags a pointed finger between us, “can sword fight in front of me later.”
Warm laughs freely fall from me and against his best efforts, Garcia can’t help but chuckle too.
Another reason we need her around.
All the time.
Every day.
She manages to naturally debug a sitch with laughter.
And that’s so crazy.
Like first ever computer crazy.
Getting around the sea of bubbles and gyrating figures to order us a round of shots isn’t difficult; however, it is a bit awkward.
Partially due to the silence of the man, I’m still a bit in disbelief about putting in his place and partially because slightly familiar faces repeatedly attempt to drag me away for obvious fuck and forget purposes, an action that reminds the two people I’m with of my previous sexual habits.
By the time we get to an empty spot for ordering, I swear I can feel Garcia’s motherboards overheating, yet rather than give himself space, he invades mine.
Protectively traps me to his chest by bracing one arm on each side of me.
His face near my ear.
“I like being your hero, Zero.”
It’s impossible not to lean into his hold.
“And hers.”
“You wanna stare at my tits or earn some tips?” snaps Salay to the male behind the bar.
“Me gusta cuando me dejas. Odio cuando Salay no lo hace.”
I helplessly grin over him saying he likes that I let him but hates that she doesn’t.
“Three deep ocean shots,” she orders for the group, “and make ‘em doubles. I don’t really wanna have to do this again before the birthday bro returns from whenever he’s getting his dick sucked.”
The bartender laughs but the man whose arms I’m in huskily asks, “Does that kind of shit happen down there?”
I nod.
“Have you done that down there?”
Another nod occurs.
“Have you done that up here?”
This time I reluctantly nod.
“Should we go to the bathroom so you can do it again with me?”
Whimpers of what would be a yes are unfortunately overpowered by our female forcing drinks in our faces upon their individual arrivals. “Put ‘em up.” As soon as we all do, she enthusiastically demands, “Now drink ‘em down.”