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“We’re doing it as a favor.”
He laughed. Connor laughed so hard that he bent over and grabbed his sides as he fell into a complete snickering fit. “Oh my gosh, my mom always says I need to clean the wax out of my ears. So, forgive me for hearing you wrong, so can you repeat how much I’m getting paid for this gig?”
“Nada. Nichts. Nothing. It’s a passion project.”
“My passion, Jax, is money.”
I sighed as I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can’t take it all on by myself, Connor. I’m going to need your help.”
“And I’m going to need funds. Since when do you even do favors for anyone outside of Joy? Whose yard are we doing?”
“Kennedy Lost. The new girl in town.”
“Oh my gosh.” Connor grew a sinister smirk and began nudging me in the arm. “Is this a booty call type thing? Are you two bumping uglies?”
“Never say bumping uglies again…like…never.”
“Listen, if you two are bumping uglies, then that’s something I can get behind. I’m all about my bro getting laid, and if you need me to plant a few seeds as your wingman, I’m all in. Are you doing her yard to get into her garden? Are you trying to lay down some cucumbers next to her peach tree? Is there an oversized eggplant—”
“Connor!” I shouted. “Shut up.”
He couldn’t stop snickering to himself. Even if he wasn’t amusing me, he was highly entertained. I swore, that kid was his own biggest fan.
“I’m not sleeping with her,” I said, hoping to shut that idea down.
He raised an eyebrow. “No sex?”
“No sex.”
“Maybe foreplay?”
“Nope.”
“A little tongue twister?”
“Not at all.”
I’d never seen him look so disappointed. He pushed his hands against the countertop edge, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “All right, Imma head out.”
“Connor, come on.” I grimaced and sighed. “Please.”
He turned to me as if I’d grown another head. “Did you…did you just say please?” he asked, placing his hands against his chest in shock. “Never in my life have I heard you say the word please to me!”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic. You have never said please to me. Ever.”
“It’s that important to me.”
I couldn’t believe I was pretty much begging a seventeen-year-old to help me on this project. Desperate didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Okay, but I have some guidelines.”
“Shoot.”
“Three times a week, we get to eat shitty food for lunch.”
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. “Two times a week.”
