Page 43 of Badd Love
"You're stalking me?"
He eyed me. "You're sharing your location with me, Dane. Remember?"
"No."
"Couple months ago? We had that stupid cousin scavenger hunt party for Kieran's birthday, and we all shared our locations so we could cheat?"
“Oh, yeah!” I exclaimed, chuckling. “Whose dumbshit idea was that, anyway?"
"Uncle Bax, I think."
"Why did he think a scavenger hunt party was a good idea for his son's twenty-first birthday?"
Jax cackled. "Fuck if I know, bro. He's Uncle Bax. He's a fuckin' spazzy-ass weirdo." He socked my bicep. "Itwaslow-key kinda fun, though, you gotta admit. Tweak the format a little, and it could be a killer tradition."
I frowned at him. "We spent four hours wandering around the greater Ketchikan area looking for dumb, random shit, Jax."
"I know! But think of the possibilities! Instead of random shit like a specific road sign or something, you make it things like…shit, I dunno…graffiti in bar bathroom, or a specific strain of weed at a dispensary or…or…well, you get the idea."
"Yeah, maybe."
He cranked the big diesel engine and let it warm up for a second, glancing at me. "You good, cuz?"
I let out a breath that was far too shaky for my own comfort. "To be honest, Jax, no. Not really."
"You wanna take Dad's boat out into the Passage and get spaced? I've got some killer flower."
I did not. I wanted to go home and cry like a bitch; I use that term in a strictly gender-neutral sense, by the way—men can be bitches, too.
But also, the thought of going back to my parents' house alone and…what, sit in my room feeling sorry for myself because a woman who was—I'm 99% sure—sexually abused at some point in her life is too emotionally vulnerable to be with me?
Grow the fuck up, Dane. Jesus. Pussy.
"Sure," I said. "Just…don't expect me to be my usual obnoxious self."
Jax laughed and whacked me on the shoulder—for a computer dork, he's strong as hell. "It's okay, cuz, I can be obnoxious for the both of us."
"Or we could just chill andnotbe obnoxious?"
Jax pretended to consider this notion for a second. "Nahhhhhh," he said. "That's lame."
And so, an hour later, I was lying on my back on the bow of Uncle Zane's fishing boat; Uncle Z calls it a fishing boat, but it's actually a former Coast Guard Defender-class Response Boat. How he got his hands on one of them, I have no idea. Former Navy SEALs get sweet boat connects, I guess.
The waves rocked the boat gently, and the sun was shining; the sky was clear and blue. Overhead, an eagle circled, banking around on a wingtip, occasionally giving off one of its strange, thin, chirpy little squawks. No, the glorious and hauntingSCREEEEEEcall they use for bald eagles in the movies is not what they actually sound like—that sound is a red-tailed hawk. Eagles just sound like annoying little shits.
Lying beside me, head and shoulders aligned with our feet facing opposite directions, Jax puffed on the joint—which was big enough for two more people to smoke with us. When Jax says he wants to get "spaced" you'd better be sure you know what you're getting yourself into. The guy has a wild tolerance for cannabis. Pretty sure he could smoke ol' Willie under the table. Okay, maybe not, but he'd hold his own.
As for me? I'm more than just spaced, I'm on another planet; when a stoner gets so stoned he or she or they can't get off the couch, we call it "couch-lock." Well, I'm deck-locked.
Jax doesn't seem high at all. He could probably re-code an entire website right now. I'm pretty sure I've misplaced my feet, and I don't remember what color my hair is.
"Bro." It came out elongated:BROOOOOOOOOOO.
Jax laughed. "Bro?”
"What color is my hair?" I pinched a lock, but it was too short to see. "I can't remember."
Jax cackled, taking another long hit and then speaking while holding it in his lungs. "Purple, bro. Remember? You dyed it purple yesterday."
