“Fucking bigoted profiling assholes” Wow, it’s rare to hear Doc cuss. He leans against the back of the Jeep, pinching the bridge of his nose, before running both hands down his face.
“Hey, Old man, we were gonna grab some burgers over at Red Rogers before we head back towards the house. Y’all comin with?” I know I am tired and my accent is coming out more. Most of the time I make a concerted effort not to talk like Gabe. People see someone who works in a garage and they automatically think uneducated or roughneck. We grew up in the south, and unless I try not to, my speech pattern reflects that.
But I’m too tired right now to put forth the effort, so I sound like I am from the ass end of nowhere Alabama. And yeah, that’s not too far from the truth, but I still hate sounding like it.
Food, apparently is the magic word here, “Oh, Let me pull up my map, a burger sounds heavenly right now.” We’re still looking up directions when Gabe gets back from settling Jacks in the truck–he’s listening to the radio, his head leaning against the window of the cab.
The restaurant is only a couple of miles down the road, back towards Oak Flats. “We’ll meet you there, yes? Should only be a few minutes drive.” Leo lowers his phone and turns to Gabe. “Hamburgers, yes?” We defer to him as pack leader but he rarely disagrees with us about anything.
“And thirty-two is not old, you ass.” Leo pokes me in the chest, startling a burst of laughter from me.
“Yeah, yeah, just keep telling yourself that,Old Man.”This is a conversation we’ve had many times. Gabe is smilingagain, barely, but I’ll take it.
“If you want to play it that way, fine,Shortstack, I’ll be happy to pick you up and paddle your ass like the young upstart you are.”
Our relationship isn’t like that, it’s true that I see him naked all the time, we live together. And sometimes we sleep in the same bed because you just need a warm puppy pile to sleep. But they’re closer to me than my own brothers ever were. Jacks is the only one I have a sexual relationship with, and with luck, soon Candice. Hopefully that won’t make things weird, since she’ll be with all of us.
Fuck, is it weird that the thought of her with my packmates, even the ones I’m not with is making me really hard?
But first, I need to take care of our caretaker. Get him fed, home, and into bed.
We load up into separate vehicles–Jacks has fallen asleep, drool running down the window. I wave at Leo in the Jeep as I pull back onto the road and start towards home. When we get to Red Roger, Jacks grumbles and sinks further into the seat, he doesn’t want to wake up. We order his to go, and the rest of us bolt our burgers and fries in the parking lot–all of us ready to just get home and get in bed.
Leo gets a coffee shake–apparently that's a thing–to go so he can have caffeine and sugar to help him stay awake on the drive. Itislate, and after the last thirty-six hours we’re all exhausted. When I get back into the truck, I put Jack’s food in the back of the cab and pull him away from the window to keep from banging his head on the glass if I hit any bumps.
He flops the rest of the way over against me, pushing against his seatbelt until his head is laying on my thigh. He twists a few times, getting comfortable, then he starts to snore loudly and I can already feel the drool seeping through my pants. I turn the radio over to an alternative rock station–something with a beat that will keep me focused. Numb by Linkin Park is just starting, and I sing along under my breath as I pull out of the parking lot and head towards home.
Chapter 15
It’s only Tuesday, and this week has already been nuts.
Thank fuck my regular clients have been with me so long and they get the ups and downs of my life. The day after I met my pack–when did I start calling them mine–I went online and made the announcement about Sunny, having to take on a couple of extra auction streams to cover vet expenses, and now my car trouble. A few of them, who know more about cars than me, wondered what could have happened to my axle. Apparently they don’t just break on their own, and you need pretty specific long term conditions, or a really hard hit. I don’t know, and I’ve been putting off talking to Gabe about it since I already have too many irons in the fire.
Settling in at my desk, I check my DMs before starting work again. I need to see if Fox-up has replied about the sketch I sent for approval. Nothing yet.
Gaia sent me condolences for Sunny, they are sweet. They once told me that they have two iguanas of their own. Now I even get pictures occasionally, and we swap silly lizard stories.
Wishbone asked if I needed any help. He or she seems to have a well-paying job and often buys into the auction streams. But I don’t want to take charity, so I say thank you but no, and tell them I will be doing another auction soon if they want to bid.
Bubbles sent me cat pictures, not in relation to Sunny, we just enjoy sharing cat memes back and forth. They also sent me a coupon for a free coffee in response to my announcement.
I skim through another seven messages, making note of whose art I need to check on, thank a few people for paying their invoices, and ask a few questions here and there about new art I need to start on.
Once those are all cleaned out I get started trying to sketch out a pose for a new piece I was commissioned to do, and what they want is very Esher girl, spines just don’t bend that way. My cell lets out a loud chirp, and I ignore it, because nothing pops up on my screen as an online message, and no one else ever texts me.
A few minutes later when it chirps again, I pick it up.
Unknown: What's your Favorite color?
Unknown: This is Jacks!
Another two messages pop up in quick succession.
Unknown: I stole your number from Xan at the shop
Unknown: I want to get your room painted so you can come see it.
I’m super confused by what’s going on at this point. Trying to figure out how to reply. I’ve been meaning to paint my nest, but that involves multiple trips to the paint store to pick out swatches, and see how they look in the room–and money. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.
