Page 62 of Micah
I scowl at her, but she’s not finished.
“Everybody needs help at one point or another. Everyone. Right now, it’s your turn. That’s not a bad thing. I was sleeping in my car when I met Kade, remember?”
“I remember. But still…no.” I say firmly.
“Can I make a suggestion?” She finally asks, after studying my mutinous expression.
“Can I stop you?”
“Nope,” she says calmly. “Talk to Ransom. He’s a problem solver. He might have some ideas.”
“Not a chance.” I say, laughing in disbelief. “The man is running a multi-billion-dollar corporation. He does not have time to talk to me.”
“Let’s see,” she says, hopping off the couch and grabbing her cell phone off the counter.
“Becca! Don’t you dare.” I yell, chasing after her, hopping around her in an attempt to grab her phone. She quickly taps out a message, easily dodging me, then hits send. Holding the phone high over her head, she shoves her butt into my stomach, laughing at my feeble attempts to grab it out of her Amazonian sized hand.
I hate being short.
I freeze as her phone pings.
She tilts the screen and smiles. “Be at his office tomorrow, 10 am.”
I stare, dumfounded. “Just like that?”
“Yep. Just like that.”
“Why would he agree so easily?”
Becca’s smile is gentle. “I think you should ask him that yourself.”
28
MICAH
Ihaven’t seen Colton like this before.
He’s the laid back joker of the group until he’s not. Nothing seems to bother him. He’s fucking Teflon. He’s the voice of reason, the one with the psychology degree. He’s calm, cool and collected until it’s time to crack some heads.
Calm, cool, collected, Colt is in the middle of an argument with a Santa Claus looking clerk in the paint department about how much glitter he can add to the cans of pink paint on the counter.
Seriously, who the fuck is he?
“It’s not gonna be sparkly enough, man. You can barely see it. It needs more! Just dump another fucking scoop in there and swish it around.” People in the aisles have stopped to watch. I don’t blame them. A tattooed, tank sized man who could make a biker tuck tail and run, arguing about sparkles is not something you see every day.
Santa Claus crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ll see it when it’s dry. You put any more glitter in there, you’re going to affect the paint and end up with a shitty finish.”
Colt looks crushed. “But…she’s three, man. She needs lots of sparkles.”
Santa softens. “Look, you can give your girl the sparkles another way. Why don’t you grab a can of glitter spray paint and use it to finish a mirror or a toy chest or something? I’m sure she’d love that. My granddaughter spray painted her entire bedframe. Fucking glitter was everywhere for the next two years.” He scowls at Colt. “That shit will get in your hair, man.” He leans in closer. “I swear I found it in my crack more than once. How the fuck does that happen?”
Colt looks worried, the crease in his brow deepening. “Your crack man? Fuck.” Rubbing his hands over his head, his eyes bounce from Santa to the glitter and back again. “Ok, fine.” He says, pointing a threatening finger at him. “I’m trusting you, but if it’s not sparkly, you and I are gonna have words.”
Santa scowls at Colt. “Yeah, yeah, I’m terrified. Now I got other customers to help.”
Kade and I grab the paint cans and stack them in the already full cart and beeline for the checkouts, hoping Colt’s done arguing.
“Why the fuck are we here, man?” Kade whispers.
