Dex had the decency to grunt. Decency only becausetracingthe root of his anger to taxes was so absolutely ridiculous it didn't need to get cemented into a fact. I hoped it wouldhave been something better, more worthwhile. Like...finding out his girlfriend had cheated on him or something. That I could understand.
“Then I'd found out that somebody was stealin' from the bar," he added in afterthought.
"Someone was stealing from the bar riles you up that much?"
Once again, he grunted.
Oh boy.
"The day after that, I got into an argument with Luther about him messin’ around with girls who aren't old enough to rent a damn car on their own, “ he prattled on until I blew a long breath out of my lips.
The idea that I could and probably should keep my mouth shut was right there, telling me to not bother saying anything. I couldn’t do it though. It wasn't my place to give him advice or call him out on things he could fix. I had a whole list of things I should fix about myself but I'd never bothered picking it up to look it over.
“Dex? I completely understand that you get pissed off about stuff, but I don’t think it’s worth you getting somad. You can fight your property taxes, right?” He didn’t say anything. “You’resmart, you can figure out a way to find out who's stealing. And Luther sleeping with girls that young…”
Was I going to say it? Yup.
"It’s pretty friggin’… weird but they’re old enough to know what they’re doing. It’s consensual, and you think it’s going to stop him from doing it?” No answer again. “Probably not. So I don’t think you should waste your time away brooding or calling innocent people bitches and friggin' idiots in retaliation. And the receipts missing? That sucks but don't let it ruin your day. You're going to give yourself a heart condition by stressing out so much about things that don't matter. Trust me. It isn't worth it.”
Silence. More silence. Triple silence.
Dex fidgeted in his seat during all of this. Arranging then rearranging his butt position.
Failing to bring up how right I was, he sighed. "I did have a few ideas on how to figure out who's been takin' money from the register..."
An hour later, we were still talking over ideas.
~ * ~ *
The three of us dragging our way across the hotel lobby was more than likely one of the most pitiful sights any possible observers would ever see. I probably resembled some sort of hybrid zombie raccoon with my rundown eyeliner and sleepy groans. I know without a doubt that Slim had a line of dry drool from the corner of his mouth down the side of his neck that Dex and I had silently agreed we wouldn’t tell him about. And Dex, carrying his backpack, my little duffel, and something that looked like a toolbox on absolutely no sleep, didn’t look like such hot stuff anymore either.
Well, that was a lie. Dex, with his disarray of blue-black hair and dry, pink lips, still looked attractive. Just more like an attractive hobo with his wrinkled clothes rather than a stunning one.
Slim had explained to me through several yawns and eye flutters that Pins usually reserved one hotel room that three people shared to keep the guys focused—on tattooing, I assumed. Not landing between two thighs. Two people got beds and someone tackled thesleepersofa. As nice as Slim was, he hadn’t already said, “I’ll sleep on the pull-out,” so I wasn’t going to assume he would either. Sleep and hunger always brought out the worst in people and I totally got it. If I went too long without eating, everything annoyed me. Plus, he was actually tattooing when we got up. My job was just to stand there and say hi to strangers.
“I’m gonnaknock out,” Dex finally yawned from a couple steps behind me.
I staggered, blinking back the fight of slumber. I’d already asked him about four times if he wanted me to help him carry stuff but each time he’d insist that he didn’t. And shoot, I wasn’t about to ask again.
Instead, I yawned as well. “Me too.”
Dex’s mouth was wide open, recovering from the nonstop trip that took us to the Hyatt closest to the convention center. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with another yawn, exhaling something that sounded like a groan. A two and a half hour drive in the middle of the night after a full work day would kill anyone.
After theconfessional slash strategy sessionwe had back in the truck—which he finally mentioned belonged to Luther—we’d exchanged maybe twenty more words. Each and every single time consisted of me asking if he was fine, and Dex responding with an assured “Yeah.” One heart-to-heart was enough.
The second that the door was unlocked and the hotel room was open, I beelined toward the couch the instant I was inside. It was almost six in the morning and we had to be up by ten and parked in front of the convention area to unload around eleven before setting up the booth.
The idea of unpacking—even worse—the idea of even taking off my clothes to crawl onto the couch made me sleepier. I pulled the cushions off and threw them on the desk across the carpet before unbuckling my belt.
"Ritz."
My mind was completely focused on getting in that friggin' bed as quickly as I could, as I yanked the mattress out. "Yes?"
"What are you doin', babe?" Dex asked.
"Going to sleep," I said, shoving my pants down to my ankles. It was a blessing my shirt was so long it covered the most important piece of my anatomy.
“What the hell?” was Slim’s lazily yawned question.
