Page 142 of Collect the Pieces

“To fuck her. On camera.” Rooster slides his hands through the air in a conveyor belt gesture. “All in one day.”

Grip and Brew explode into cheers, banging on the table again like drunk frat bros.

“Settle the fuck down!” Grinder snaps.

“Wait.” Hustler waves his hand at Rooster. “Is that even possible? Time-wise?”

I stare at him. “Aren’t you our numbers guy?”

“Gives every guy about fourteen minutes with her if she takes the full twenty-four hours and about seven if she wants to do it in twelve,” Eazy announces.

“Seven minutes in heaven.” Grip holds his hands up toward the ceiling.

Suds side-eyes Eazy. “You couldn’t break a ten at the laundromat the other day, but sex math you can do?”

“Everyone has their talents.” Eazy flashes a middle finger at Suds.

“Can I please share the whole proposal before we start discussing this?” Rooster asks with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Or whatever’s going on down there.”

Grinder stares at him in horror. “There’smore?”

Z still hasn’t said a word but he’s leaning sideways in his chair, rubbing his temple, like he’d rather go down a bottle of Advil than listen to another word. “Continue, VP,” he says, absolute exhaustion weighing down his voice.

“She proposed posting an open casting call on all of her social medias, ‘seeking male talent, eighteen and up only, current STI results, location to be determined.’” Rooster rattles off the list of requirements in an irritated tone. Stella’s email had a precise list of demands.

A strangled noise of exasperation escapes Z. “Who’s supposed to sort through the applications?”

Rooster glares at him. “Me.” He jerks his thumb in my direction. “Jiggy.”

“I beg your finest of pardons, motherclucker.” My tone better be crystal clear that I’m not sorting through a bunch of gang bang applications. “No, the fuck I won’t.”

Chuckles from further down the table swiftly get covered with a loud fake cough.

“Can’t forget my favorite part.” Rooster taps one of the pages. “The applicants need to send in a headshot—because, and I quote—‘she doesn’t want any ugly guys.’”

“Yeeeah,” I say, stretching out the word to draw attention to the obvious. “We all know that pile will be full of dick pics.”

Butcher bursts out laughing. “The only guys signing up for that are gonna be ones who can’t get laid otherwise.” He points at Suds and Hustler. “Guess you two are off the gang bang list, you ugly fuckers.”

“Pfft.” Suds lets out a fuck-you snort. “Fine by me.”

“Where is she planning to film this fuckfest?” Grinder asks. “From what Z’s described, the kind of hotels she likes to film in are gonna notice a parade of peckerwoods rotating through their lobby, dicks in hand.”

Rooster’s lips stretch into a thin line. He’s really dreading this reveal. “She wants to film ithere.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Grinder practically shouts. “Is this broad insane? We’re not taking the security risk of having a hundred civilians traipsing through our clubhouse.”

Rooster raises one finger. “A hundred andone.”

Grinder shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Grandpa has a good point,” Hustler says. “I don’t want a hundred perverts in and out of our clubhouse.”

“You mean a hundred and one,in additionto the ones that already live here?” I say, circling my finger around the table.

A slow smirk spreads over Hustler’s face. “Don’t act like you’re so innocent now that you’ve got a pretty young thing who lets you stick it in her on the regular.”

Grinder smacks the back of Hustler’s head. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth when you talk about his ol’ lady.”

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