Page 63 of Hunted: Season Two

This. Shit.

This watching him love and adore her but practically fucking ignoring me.

Treating me like an old, cracked window tint that’s irrelevant.

Listening to him cheerfully talk shop to every Tom, Dick, and Fuckboy that walks into the garage for work but won’t so much as ask me to hand him a goddamn wrench.

I get it.

He’s pissed.

He’sbeenpissed.

He’s probably gonna keepbeingpissed until he stops doing laps at the Angry 500 and actually fuckingtalksto me about what’s on his mind.

Not that I’m looking forward to that talk.

But it beats the fuck out this silent treatment bullshit I’m way too fucking old for.

Kid’s focus along with his smile return to Rabbit. “Want help?”

A familiar flirty smirk is given. “You mean youwantme to want help.”

“I alwayswant you.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Full. Flag. Stop.”

She gives a playful tug to his work shirt prior to pointing. “Wash your hands.” Unexpectedly, she throws me the same order. “You too.”

“Why?”

“You canbothhelp.”

I prepare to shoot back a snarky retort when I spot the silent pleading.

Ah.

This isn’t actually about needing assistance.

It’s about getting us all in the same lane again.

Maybe even the same car.

“Got it,” precedes me moving to the sink to be beside Kipp who immediately displays displeasure once more.

After taking two pumps of the fruity hand soap Rabbit loves, I expect him to offer it to me or at the very least push it over my way.

He doesn’t.

In fact, I swear he nudges it in the opposite direction as if to wordlessly request I fuck off.

Which isnewfor him.

And shit I don’t care for.

A lot like dubstep.

I stretch across the small space to steal a dab of soap at the same time he turns on the water. “How was work?”

An uncomfortably long lull passes before he bluntly answers, “Busy.”

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