Junior groaned.
“Sit up,” Crybaby scolded.
Junior did as he was told, but he did not look happy about it.
“Got into the Malibu, huh?” Noah smirked.
“Fuck off.” Junior frowned up at Crybaby. “We got orders to kill Crisco yet?”
“No,” she replied. “Sorry.”
“Damn.”
“Sorry, buddy!” Noah blew him a kiss. “You’re stuck with me. How about gettin’ me a drink?”
“I don’t fuckin’ work for yous, ass munch,” Junior grumbled.
“Junior.” Crybaby stared at him expectantly.
“Fuck!” Junior stood with a muttered string of curses and insults, an unintelligible blur of profanity that would have made a sailor blush.
“Get the boy a mimosa,” Crybaby ordered.
Noah frowned. “But I don’t want—”
“You’ll drink what I tell you to fuckin’ drink. I’m not having you get shit faced before Alistair comes back.” She pointed at Junior. “And you. Water or nothin’, got it?”
“Fuckin’ got it!” Junior adjusted his jacket and stalked off toward the bar.
“Are you always this bitchy?” Noah wondered out loud.
“Bitchy?” Crybaby glared. “Why is it when a woman is assertive that she’s then automatically a bitch? Huh?”
“Wait, no—”
“The second a woman takes on any position of power or authority, she’s a bitch. When she’s aggressive and doesn’t take any bullshit from a man, she’s abitch—”
“Okay! Fine! You’re an asshole!” Noah shouted. “Is that better?”
“Much.” Crybaby stood up straighter. “Thank you.”
Junior returned with a bottle of water for himself and Noah’s mimosa, and Noah got nice and comfortable in his chair. He had to admit it was kinda cool to lounge poolside with his own personal bodyguards.
Okay, technically they were holding him hostage, but whatever.
By the time Noah finished his mimosa, however, the novelty was lost.
He was bored.
He hadn’t been able to check any of his social media, browse the web, or even watch television. Without Alistair here to weave his seductive spell, he didn’t have anything to distract himself with.
Certainly not Junior’s stimulating chatter.
“I’m telling you, that Malibu shit smelled like that nasty Icebreakers gum or fuckin’ somethin’,” Junior was saying. “Fuckin’ gross ass minty shit.”
“Minty?” Crybaby frowned. “It’s supposed to be coconut or something, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
