“Oh my god,” I seethed. “You’re not serious.”
“I’mveryserious, wife.” He crossed his obnoxiously muscled arms over his obnoxiously broad chest, standing guard next to the sign as if just daring me to rip the thing down.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I said. “You’refucking ridiculous. And I can’t stand around arguing with you all day. I’ve still got deliveries to make, and I’m now almost half an hour behind.”
He glanced out the open back door and to the truck bed with all the crates stacked inside. His mouth pinched into a firm line, his jaw ticking once. “I don’t like that you’re doing these by yourself.”
“And I don’t like that I married a jackass,” I shot back, stalking out the back door. “Guess we’ll both have to figure out how to go on with our days.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LINCOLN
Group text with Atlas, Xander, Declan, and Lincoln
9:57 a.m.
Lincoln:
Need someone to cover my shift today.
Atlas:
Again?
Declan:
Today as in right now?
Xander:
This is becoming a habit, man.
Lincoln:
So is pretending I can win an argument with my wife.
Xander:
Not even remotely the point. Who else is on shift?
Lincoln:
Just me and Brooks.
Declan:
Oh cool, the guy who set off the alarm three times in one day. I’m sure that’ll be fine.
Xander:
He’s a solid pour, but that kid’s scattered as fuck.
Lincoln:
It’s Monday. Mondays are graveyard slow.
I just need a warm body with enough brain cells to keep the lights on and not pour vodka into the fry oil.
