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My eyes narrowed.
“No, I don’t,” I told her. “Just have to run. I’m doing that with Pace around five in the morning, though. So, I don’t doubt that I can meet you for lunch. Unless we decide to run for six hours.”
She snorted. “You can’t even run for two.”
That was true.
Though, at this point, it wasn’t that I couldn’t run for two, but that I hadn’t needed to run for two.
I was doing a half marathon. And I was already running it under two hours.
My endurance hadn’t been tested beyond that point yet.
The door opened behind me and Saylor came out, looking mutinous.
“I gotta go, Mom,” I said. “Saylor’s giving me the stink eye.”
“Uh-oh,” Mom tittered. “Better make up for whatever you just did to piss her off.”
“What makes you think it was something that I did to piss her off?” I asked curiously.
Saylor’s eyes narrowed even more.
“Because more than likely, it’s always the man that fucks things up. Never the woman,” Mom declared.
“Bullshit,” Dad countered from the background. “Your stubborn ass has had more than her fair share of fuck ups over the course of our relationship.”
Deciding to leave them to their bickering, I pressed end on the phone and headed Saylor’s way.
The car that was slowly driving past the house finally made it past, but not even it could sway my attention away from the woman staring at me like I’d done her wrong.
“What happened?”
She made a disgruntled face.
“Dad’s been dealing with more shit than I thought,” she said. “He’s having some trouble that he was trying not to tell me about but ended up thinking that I needed to know.”
I fronted.
“What?” I wondered.
“At first, it was little stuff,” she said. “A few problems here and there, nothing too big. But those little problems went from being little to being obvious that something was being done. A flat tire here. A dead bird there. All of a sudden it went from could be a coincidence to there’s something wrong. Last week my dad’s truck was stolen. Today, he got a letter in the mail.”
“What kind of letter?” I asked.
“The kind of letter that has a man’s dick jacking off to a picture of me and you fighting in the front yard.” She winced.
I remembered the fight.
Though, it hadn’t been a fight for long.
It’d been a disagreement on whether or not she should help pay for the repairs on the pool house. After she’d gotten her argument out, I’d completely rendered it invalid, and I’d ushered her inside where I’d then gone about showing her just who was in charge.
But, obviously, someone had been watching our argument.
And had liked that we were arguing.
“Fuck,” I said, sounding disgusted. “Was he able to get any prints pulled off of it?”
She shook her head.
“No, just like the ones sent here. Nothing.” She clenched her teeth. “I don’t like this.”
No, I didn’t either.
I gestured for her to go inside, which she did moments later.
“We’re going to assume,” I said stiffly. “That there’s someone that’s out to punish us for something we’ve done…even if we don’t know what that thing is. That means no more standing outside giving whoever is watching us something to masturbate to.”
She made a gagging sound in her throat.
“I think we should leave tomorrow night after I get off of work,” she said. “Tomorrow being Friday, I should be able to bail out at three…I’m assuming that you’re going to be asking one of the guys to cover your shifts?”
I nodded my head.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll get started with that now.”
She nodded and tossed me back my phone.
I took it as she started to strip her clothes from her body.
She was still wearing her scrubs from work, and I couldn’t help but watch her progress as she moved toward the bathroom.
I quickly dialed the first one that I’d covered for last and pressed the phone to my ear.
All the while I watched Saylor undress down to her panties and underwear, then redress in a baggy t-shirt of mine from my high school days, and a pair of sleep pants that looked way too hot to be wearing yet.
But, as she liked to say, I kept it as cold as Antarctica in the house, so she had to dress accordingly.
“Hello?” Logan rumbled, sounding distracted.
“Can you cover my shift Saturday?” I asked without preamble. “I have to go ask for Saylor’s father’s permission to marry his daughter.”
Luckily at that point Saylor was busy doing something in the bathroom, allowing me to speak candidly.
“No problem,” he said. “Can I use your truck or bike, though? Katy has a thing she has to do this weekend—some convention for other weird people like her—and I have my bike going into the shop for some work.”
“Done,” I said. “I can drop it off to you tomorrow. My bike. I’m going to be using my truck this weekend, though.”
