Yeah, it was thesame fucking time.Don’t let her convince you otherwise.
I shut my eyes, sinking deeper into the pillows. I will stay here all damn day if it means that she’ll actually get some rest.
Lowesy’s party was a success on all fronts. He was so drunk when I left that I doubt he noticed I dipped out a little early. He was far too happy to care, following Sweets around and doing shot after shot with the boys. He had his crew from home, anyway, and it was very clear he intended to spend most of his time with them. He was sorted.
God, I love my life.
A low buzzing interrupts my serenity. I groan, rolling over as best as I can without waking Arden. I see Boston’s face on the screen, so I silence it and roll back into the bed that I never want to leave. Mine is much comfier, I’ll give myself that, but any bed she’s in is the preferred one.
I shut my eyes, my hangover starting to kick in, when my phone starts buzzing again. My eyes snap open and I glance at the nightstand. There is his stupid face again.
For a moment, I debate silencing it for a second time. But it’s Boston. Boston wouldn’t call me twice if it wasn’t important.
I slide out from under Arden and she stirs a bit, only to fall right back asleep when I pull the covers over her. She lets out a dreamy sigh, and I seriously consider quitting my job just to spend the rest of my life staring at her.
My phone continues to buzz in my hand.
Right. Boston.
I trudge out of her bedroom and shut the door behind me.When I answer his call, there is chaos on the other end of the line. Farm chaos. There are dogs barking incessantly in the background, and I swear I can hear his goats screaming up a storm.
Fucking goats. At seven in the morning. While the Jager drums in my temples.
“Boss.”
“Hey—oh, fuck,” he says, and there is some grunting and shuffling and swearing. “Sorry, you’d think having animals would get easier the longer you do it, but then the kids are breaking into the cow pasture and scaring the shit out of them, and Mildred acts like she’s never seen a fucking goat a day in her life.”
Mildred is a cow, by the way.
“I thought they roamed together,” I say, falling onto Arden’s couch. I am certain I’ve seen the animals grazing together. Goats and cows included.
“They do,” he grumbles. “But these little shits like to butt their heads against the cows’ legs for practice. Two in particular. They never see them coming so they have a meltdown each and every time.”
“Did you call me at seven in the morning to tell me about your goats?”
And Mildred the cow.
“No,” he says. “Not at all. Where are you?”
“Arden’s.”
There’s a long pause. “Really.”
He doesn’t pose it as a question.
“Yes,” I say. “Is there a problem?”
“Well, there might be.” He sighs, long, loud, and tired. “I’m going to send you something. I already know the answer, but I don’t think my opinion is the one that’s going to matter.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hold on.”
I wait in silence, my curiosity eating me alive. After a moment, my phone buzzes in my palm and Boston returns with a grumble, telling me to look.
It’s an article about a specific podcast and my heart sinks to my toes.
The Beast’s Affair: Arden Doll is Punching the Air Right Now
