Page 102 of Hunted: Season Two

“Check,” he commands with a firm chin tip. “And as forthis?” His head motions to the unpurchased presents. “Worst case scenario is I’ll pay for the shit now and you can pay me back.”

“No.”

“Ace-”

“Fuck no.”

“But-”

“If this wereany other shit? Fine. Fuck. Whatever.” Pulling out my device precedes my stare falling to it. “Not this.”

Kid would lose his fucking mind – as is – if he knew we were out shopping together right now.

Especially. For. This.

I can’t“taint”his gift.

I just fucking can’t.

One, keyed in passcode, later reveals to me a missed call from Post along with an alert text from the credit card company. Quickly opening the message has the knot of dread that’s growing in my throat promptly dissipating. “Fraud alert.” After typing the correction option, I look back up at Garcia. “Due to the large,unusualpurchase, it was flagged as fraud.”

“Are we sure it’s not?” he playfully pokes. “This purchase isunusualforyouof all the fucking people I know.”

“You can refrain from being an asshole to me and resume being a charming asshole toher.”

Monique struggles not to snicker while I try my card again.

“I’m not an asshole,” Garcia slyly segues, sending his attention with it. “And I look forward to proving that to you tonight, Mon.”

“I look forward to that too,” she replies around the time my purchase is approved.

“How do you feel about the white that sparkles? Like champagne? Particularly vintage. The restaurant I’m thinking of has a 1996 Boerl & Kroff Brut Millesime that’s well worth the cost.”

Instead of blocking or assisting or really having any additional parts to whatever Jingle Bell Cock shit he’s stirring up, I merely put my card back in my wallet.

Grab my cell again.

Occupy myself with sorting through random work-related emails from both the shop and the tow company.

This time of year – similar to when we’re in festival season – is pretty fucking busy.

Between people wanting to winterproof their cars – a lot like their houses – and people not being smart enough to abide by the fucking weather patterns – ice sucks more than snow – there’s very little downtime.

I swear it feels like from sunup to sunup again I’m behind the wheel ofsomething.

Whether that’s towing or tuning or traveling to meet with contractors or city members regarding our rebuild or Garcia to discuss the suspiciouslackof activity from McAdams, I’m rarely idling for longer than it takes to get my dick wet.

Or The Kid’s sack empty.

Or hear Rabbit pleading for mercy.

Fuck, even most meals I have are on the goddamn go.

They’ve even started packing them for me in containers knowing I’ll most likely be eating them on the road.

Originally, I agreed to slow down, but once we found out Rabbit was pregnant, I knew I needed to pick the shit back up.

At least for a bit.

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