1
ANT
When you’re friends with serial killers, you gotta know the group chat is gonna be entertaining as fuck. The chat I’ve got going with Anders and Hopper is called Murderer’s Row, and it cracks me up every time it pops up in my notifications. I’m up on Mrs. Castlebridge’s roof helping get the Pygmy goats down—again—when the metalschlingof a knife being thrown sounds off from my phone.
Handing the last goat down to my buddy, Nacho, I check the notification and laugh.
Oh, Anders.
“Oye,short stuff.Put your phone away until you’re on the ground,” Nacho grumps in Spanish.
“I’m notthatshort,” I huff.
I mean, yes, I kind of am, butstill.
“Okay, Mr. Five Foot One.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me. I’m five-two. And a half.”
“In combat boots, maybe.”
“No,” I insist, looking over the side of the roof. “Barefoot.”
He holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. Either step all five foot twoand a halfof you back from the edge or come down. I don’t want to have to tell that big Norwegian I let you get hurt.”
I snort. “What the hell does my roommate care if I get hurt?”
Nacho isn’t fooled for a second. He knows I’ve been aching over that six-and-a-half-foot Norwegian—Erik—for over a year now, and Erik hasn’t shown one single hint that he returns my feelings. Sure, he’s kind, but what use is kind if he won’t split me in two?
Erik and I have been staying at the bunkhouse at Wild Heart Ranch for the last few months, and it’s been…cordial. He stays on his side of the house, and I stay on mine.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
Sure, my cock and hand are best friends at this point, but everything’s fine.
Anyway, I heed Nacho’s warning and carefully make my way to solid ground. He’s now a partial owner of the Jennings brothers’ fencing business, which means he’s my boss.
Whatever. Just this morning, I had to witness Nacho’s husband, Bram—seriously, why is everyone so hell-bent on getting married?—carefullyadjust Nacho’s seat belt and fuss at him for missing his water intake yesterday. Nacho had to pull his safety vest over his lap to cover up what Bram’s littlecorrectionsdid to him, and letting him drive after that was probably a mistake.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just those two stinking up the joint with all their love pheromones. Bram’s brother, Levy, and my Uncle Javier totally fell head over heels in love with each other the instant they met.
All of a sudden, we’re getting—I shit you not—an invitation from Mexico to a live-streameddouble ceremonyfor those four idiots. I mean, it’s better than being left out, and, sure, I cried when they all said I do, but something about that whole thing just…stung.
Whatever. I can be happy for people.
I can.
Shut up. I totally can.
Anyway. People in love are just gross.
Then you must be disgusting.
Fuck, I havegotto stop arguing with myself.
Thankfully, since this visit to Mrs. Castlebridge was a last-minute call at the end of the day, she rewarded us with homemade cookies for our troubles. Mrs. Castlebridge doesn’t know this, but I’d totally kill for her cookies.
