Page 95 of Apex of the Curve

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“She should sell you the lot of it for four cents and give him two pennies.”

“Wait,” I said. “Could she do that?”

“Dunno, would have to talk to a lawyer,” DT said.

“Or Mav,” Mace suggested. “I bet he’d know.”

“Huh.” The wheels were turning, now.

“Listen,” Dump Truck said. “I like her. You let me deal with that paint night thing, I’ll get the girls on it. You talk to Mav and see what kind of devious fuckin’ shit he can come up with to ruin her ex’s fuckin’ day – all on the right side of the law. I think that’ll be the only way to win her over. She’s a sweet girl,” Dump Truck said with a nod. “I like what she does for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said.

“I like her, too. What I can remember of her,” Mace said with a laugh and we shared in the chuckle.

“Man, you were fucked up,” I agreed.

“Totally worth it, though.” He sighed.

“What?” I asked.

“Had a long time to just sit and think when I was locked up,” he answered.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“I think I want what you guys have. A woman, a real one, the only one. You know? A life, settle down. Kids?” he shrugged. “Maybe, who knows? I do know I’d like a house. Some land, like what you and your pops got going on.”

“Find you a woman who likes to garden,” Dump Truck said. “Knows how to can. Y’all would be set come the zombie apocalypse.”

We all laughed. “You’re not wrong,” I agreed. Then started really thinking about something Aspen had said.

“You know, Aspen said she was getting tired of running her place with everything else she had going on.”

“Yeah?” Mace said.

“Yeah, said she missed the days she worked out of her garage in addition to her day job, selling her stuff on the weekends at Farmer’s Markets.”

“Shit, she’d probably make a killing at some of the ren faires and SCA events around the area,” Dump Truck said.

I nodded.

“I thought about that.”

“Go talk to Mav,” Mace urged. “Let DT do whatever he was gonna do with the girls. The way she looked at you, man? This is imminently fixable for all you feel like shit right now.”

“Swear to God, next time I see Tic, I’m fixing to punch him right in the mouth if that’s the problem,” I said.

“Little Bird’ll let me know.”

“Thanks, bro,” I said slipping off my barstool.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Mace asked, brown eyes twinkling under his mop of black hair.

“Fine,” I said. “Thanks, bros.”

“That’s better.” He slapped me on the back of the cut. “Go get ‘im, Tiger.”

“Man, fuck you,” I said, shaking my head.

He gave me a cheesy grin and the finger and I went off in search of Maverick.

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