Page 74 of Real Dirty
And that’s probably the truth. Boone isdifferent, and something about him makes me want to experience all the things I’ve been missing out on for years by being trapped in the Fishbowl.
“Whatever you want to call it, we gotta talk about the plan. I need to know what I’m walking into.”
We’re a few blocks away from the bar, and I glance at the clock on my phone. It’s only a few minutes after ten in the morning, but that means Esteban is probably going to be pissed because I doubt Brandy got her lazy ass out of bed—if she even slept there last night—to make sure he has fresh water and food. Esteban is a demanding feathered diva when it comes to his schedule.
“Don’t listen to whatever he says to you. Just grab the cage and get out of there.”
We’d already argued about me helping. Boone forbade me from getting out of the car, even though my ankle is feeling a lot better this morning and the swelling has gone down. Maybe it’s the painkillers talking, but I think it was a whole lot of fuss over nothing too serious.
“Why would I worry about what the bird says? I’m more concerned about someone taking a swing at my head from behind with that baseball bat you kept behind the bar.”
“Brandy shouldn’t be awake, if she’s even there. You’ve got keys, and it’s not like there’s an alarm that’s going to go off. Dad stopped paying for the monitoring before I took over managing the place.”
“And no one else is going to be there?”
“No. Unless ...”
“What?”
“When I lived above the bar and Brandy crashed there, I had a rule that she couldn’t bring anyone home. If she wanted to bang some dude, she had to do it somewhere else.”
“So she and her latest fuck might be upstairs.”
I nod. “And Esteban isn’t going to be quiet, so that could definitely wake the dead.”
Boone pulls up behind the bar and shifts the car into park. “No cars here, though.”
“Brandy doesn’t have a car. Got repo’d a few months ago.”
He just shakes his head and holds out his hand. “Keys?”
I drop the ring into his palm with the six keys to various locks in the building. “Let me help. Seriously. I’m fine. I can walk—”
Boone gives me a hard look. “Not happening. And when we get back home, your ass is going on the couch with that ankle up for the rest of the day. Get me?”
It takes everything I have not to bare my teeth at him in frustration. But I manage.
“Fine. Be a stubborn ass. Clearly, you’re good at it.”
He shoots me a wink. “It’s your ass I’m more worried about. Got plans for that sweet peach, and I need you in full working order for them.”
My mouth drops open, but Boone is out of the truck and heading for the back door of the bar before I can pull it together to respond.
That man ...
He frustrates me and excites me in equal measure. I want to slap the smirk off his face and then kiss the crap out of him.Yeah, I’m screwed.
When he reaches the door, I realize I didn’t tell him which key it was, but on the third try, he gets it right and the door opens.
Boone disappears inside, and now ... I wait.
43
Boone
At ten o’clock this morning, I was supposed to be giving a radio interview, but I canceled it after breakfast when Ripley told me she needed to go to her friend Hope’s to borrow her truck and stage a rescue operation.
Fast forward through a lot of arguing and what was probably the sexiest bargaining of my life, and here I am instead.
