Wild Wind: A Chaos Novella (Chaos #6.6)(69)

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Cool.”

He forked into his burrito, took a bite, then poured more taco sauce on it.

“My man likes the spice,” she said.

He looked at her. “Yeah.”

She tipped her head to the side. “You okay?”

She was not going to watch that movie.

Not yet.

This meant he was okay, so he nodded.

“Okay,” she murmured, then forked into her own burrito.

“Don’t move that dining room table on your own,” he ordered. “I’ll get Dutch or one of the guys over and we’ll move it up here for you.”

She chewed her burrito, her eyes on him.

She then swallowed her bite and said to him, “You’re such a guy.”

“Well, yeah.”

“You know I move furniture, and shelves, and boxes around all the time. It’s part of my job,” she shared.

Dragging shit around her store was one thing.

Carrying it up some stairs was another.

To communicate that, he repeated, “Don’t move. That table. On your own. I’ll get a brother and we’ll move it up here for you.”

And that was when she grinned at him.

They did breakfast, he helped with cleanup and they made out at the door before he moved out and headed for home.

He needed to change clothes and get to the garage.

He did the first part of that, but on his way out to his bike, he stopped and texted his ma and Hound.

You guys free to have dinner at Archie’s? I want you to meet her and she said she’d like to cook for you.

He knew how much he was on his mother’s mind when her reply took about two minutes to chime in.

Absolutely! When?

You pick. Neither of us have anything on. He texted back.

Thursday? Friday? His mom replied before he’d even made it out to his bike.

Like I said, you pick. Neither of us have anything on. He returned.

But is Friday night a date night for you two? Would that be cramping your style? His mom shot back right before he fired up his bike.

And before he even got his thumbs again to his screen, another came in from her.

If so, we can do Thursday.

He was about to tell her he didn’t give a fuck—neither of them had anything on—when thankfully, Hound butted in.

Friday. And we’re getting a sitter.

The man speaks. His mother texted. Then sent, Which means the discussion is over.

No, I’m just sick of my phone fucking beeping with you rattling on when Jag says they don’t give a fuck which day we show. Hound declared.

I don’t rattle. His mother retorted.

Woman, you are in another room from me in the same house right now. Why are you texting? Hound asked.

To which his mother said, Love you, Jagger. See you Friday and can’t wait to meet Archie!

And that was the end of that.

Jagger started up his bike and headed to work.

But he did this smiling.





The next day, in the afternoon, Jag sat at the soda fountain next to Mal.

Mal was showing him the difference between a chocolate shake made with chocolate ice cream and one made with vanilla and chocolate syrup.

Actually, he wasn’t. Archie had made the shakes.

But it was Mal’s idea.

So they both sat there with two full shakes in front of them because Archie didn’t fuck around with halfsies.

The taste test was done, and Jag had discovered that Mal was right.

The syrup option was seriously better.

As they slurped between the two, Jag asked, “Your mom okay with all the stuff?”

From Mal: Slurp. “She freaked out at first.” Slurp. “Went into the school and lost it on the principal.” Slurp. “He stepped up surveillance of the Harris brothers.” Slurp. “They were suspended today.”

Jag turned from his shake to Mal. “They fucked with you again?”

Mal shook his head even with the straw still in his mouth.

Slurp.

He then let the straw go and looked up at Jag.

“There’s a girl. She’s in a special needs class. She’s super pretty but she sees letters backward or something.”

“Dyslexic,” Jagger told him.

“Yeah. That. They mess with her too. Mostly because Aaron likes her, and she thinks he’s a dick. The more she puts him off, the more Aaron pulls shit with her. They messed with her today. Since teachers were on high alert about them because Mom lost her mind, they were caught.”

“Allan in on it?”

Mal put the straw between his lips, shook his head and, slurp.

Then he said, “No, I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what they did. But I figure it was a guilt by association thing.”

“He ever in on it?” Jag asked.

Mal shifted the glasses in front of him while shaking his head again. “Allan’s quiet. Get him away from Aaron, he’s not a total asshole. But twisted props to him, he never leaves his brother hanging.”

Jag didn’t have any brothers who were dickheads, either of the blood or of the cut.

But he suspected, he got fucked repeatedly because of their damage, it’d eventually begin to get old.

“I should probably tell you not to cuss,” Jagger noted.