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I snickered. “That for you?”
“Yeah.”
I thought so. He fucking loved Oreos.
“Alright. Give me some time to hunt this all down.”
We ended the call, and I walked the aisles with a cart, spending ten times longer than anyone else shopping in that store to find what I needed. The signs weren’t always specific enough, and the candy was in the specialty foods aisle. Why? I grumbled as I placed the last item inside and headed toward the check-out.
Every fucking one of them had a line.
Jesus. How did people do this every week?
I ate out too damn much, but I didn’t have to deal with this shit. A lady behind me complained about the wait. A snotty kid cried as his mother ignored him. Then, a couple argued over the price of something one of them had placed in their cart.
If we didn’t need this shit, I would have left and ordered it all online. I rarely stepped inside an actual store unless it was a liquor or a smoke shop. This proved why I avoided it.
By the time I exited, it was three fucking hours since I walked inside. I couldn’t get those lost hours of my life back.
Agitated, I unloaded the cart and filled the back of the van, returning the cart since I wasn’t a total asshole.
After I parked the van, Manic approached and opened the back doors. He whistled, “That’s a lot of food and water.”
“Pres said to stock up.”
“You sure did. Get any pretzels and French onion dip?”
“No,” I growled.
Manic chuckled. “Damn. You’re cranky.”
“You go to the store next time.”
He shook his head, amused. “We better have a couple of prospects by then.”
“No shit,” I agreed.
I paid my dues. This was the first and last time I went grocery shopping inside a store for the club.
We unloaded the van and put away all the cold items. I left the rest stacked on the counters and floor inside the kitchen. We’d have to gut the interior, but the appliances worked until the new shit Maddog purchased was delivered. The space was fucking huge. The women would love it. When an ol’ lady wanted to cook, or we decided to have a cookout, there would be plenty of counters and space to work. Hell, even if we heated a bunch of pizzas and set them out, people had room to eat and socialize.
“How did it go?” Maddog asked as I walked outdoors, pulling a pack of smokes from my cut.
“Don’t ever ask me to go again,” I growled.
“That fucking bad?”
“We order online and do curbside from now on. I’m not fucking joking,” I spat as I lit the end of a cigarette and inhaled. The nicotine hit just right, and adrenaline surged, creating a buzz of energy and pleasure I needed.
“Fine. We order online until we get a couple of prospects to help out.”
“Thank fuck,” I mumbled.
“I’m gonna call church tomorrow. I’m expecting Skel soon.”
Hell yeah. “I haven’t seen him in fucking forever.”
“Me either, brother. It’s gonna be fucking epic to have us all together again.”
