Work sucks ass today.
No nicer way to put it.
I’m running on two hours of sleep, blue balls, and three truffles that I stole from Tavi’s stash as I was putting it into Willie Wayne’s bunker last night.
And do I get the easy day today?
No, I do not.
Some Deer Drop dummy’s sewer lines are backed up because of God only knows how many months’ worth of tampons and those damn flushable wipes that aren’t flushable at all, and I spend the morning snaking shit that would’ve made me gag in my younger plumber years.
Still not all that pleasant, but it’s clinical now.
When I get back to Tickled Pink on my way to clean up before poker night, my route takes me past the church, andJesus.
Teague’s showing the place to Lola and two dudes in suits that I don’t recognize.
We always wondered how Teague survived, since his only discernible job is being Tickled Pink’s resident real estate agent, and God knowshouses don’t go fast around here. Has goats. Grows food too. Fishes a lot. Lives in a tree house. Doesn’t need a lot of electricity or water.
When we found out he was an heir to some big oil fortune earlier this summer when his long-lost brother came to find him, we wondered if he’d been secretly living off a trust fund, but turns out the dude’s a minimalist and doesn’t need a lot to survive.
Puts most of his money into Bridget and the town, and that means the rest of us put our time and effort into taking care of him the best we can.
Teague lifts a hand to me as I pass by, so I slow and lower my window.
“Dylan’s the local plumber,” he tells the suits. Then he looks at me. “You been in here recently?”
“Thought I heard water gushing,” I reply. “Turned out one of Teague’s goats locked himself inside. Wouldn’t surprise me if the pipes go, though. Place has been empty for twenty years or so. No maintenance.”
The suits smile, look at Lola, and smile broader. “That’s the best news we’ve had all day.”
Teague scowls at me.
I give him thewarn a small-town guy who doesn’t know any better next timeglare.
I didn’t know I was supposed to make it soundgood.
Probably should’ve, now that I think about it.
All of America would tune in to watch Lola Minelli dealing with exploding pipes in a church.
“Exploding pipes will cost you extra,” Teague tells the producers.
“You that plumber from TikTok?” one of them asks me. His gaze flicks over my face. “Ever think about doing TV for real? With a face like that—”
“Right?” Lola squeals. “That’s what I keep telling him.”
“No.” I wave, roll up my window, and head away from the church.
Don’t have anything else good to contribute, and I need to see Tavi. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts, which isn’t unusual.
She’s usually working with her family and can’t get to her phone.
But I don’t know what her day’s been like today, when she’s supposed to be staying off her ankle.
“Hey, Dylan,” Bridget calls as I swing out of my truck near the boys’ entrance to the school. She’s out Rollerblading with two friends. “Your TikToks are killing it!”
“When you grow up and become a plumber, your TikToks can kill it too,” I call back.
