Page 185 of Duty and Desire
Mag with his head in my fridge.
And Mo standing in the kitchen, wearing a dove gray shirt with a sheen that made it almost silver, dark gray trousers, head tipped back, corded throat on display through his open collar, downing water from a black Hydro Flask.
I did not have it in me to react to all this goodness in my living room and kitchen, even Mo looking extradoublehot wearing nice clothes and downing water in a way I got that view of his throat.
We were leaving in five minutes for his mom’s and I was in a state.
“Babe, what the fuck? You don’t have beer?” Mag stated after pulling his head out of the fridge.
“I only drink beer on special occasions or at your place,” I replied.
He stared at me saying, “That’s impossible.”
“Crib is tight, Lots,” Auggie told me as I rushed by him (or limped by him on one spike heel, one bare foot, clutching my other shoe to my chest as well as the bag I was switching out to).
“Thanks,” I muttered to Auggie.
Mo had come out from behind the Hydro and was staring at me in a way that, if we weren’t imminently going to dinner at his mom’s, and his buds weren’t hanging around being hot, I would be on my back on the kitchen floor getting fucked.
Good to know he liked the dress.
But I couldn’t even let that penetrate.
“How can you not drink beer?” Mag demanded to know.
“She’s fit, asshole,” Axl called. “That’s how. Not everyone has your metabolism and a cast-iron liver.”
“Mac, babe, seriously, that calendar on your fridge,” Boone said to me as I dumped all that was in my hands on the counter by his hip.
I looked up at him.
“What?” I asked.
“Three-month oil changes?” He shook his head. “Check your manual. Unless you drive a Chrysler Lebaron circa nineteen eighty-two, it’s either five thousand or seven thousand. Sometimes even ten. That three-month or three-thousand-mile gig is totally overkill.”
“I justknewthat was a scam,” I snapped.
He grinned at me. “Good you now got men in your life who’ll look out for you.”
I already had men in my life who looked out for me.
But none of them told me about the oil-change scam.
I would have words with Eddie.
Then Tex.
Later.
At that moment, I needed to freak out.
“Can I ask when my woman became all of your woman?” Mo requested to know from behind me, and he didn’t sound happy.
“Until we get our own,” Mag answered breezily. “You know sister wives? We’re like brother husbands.”
“No you aren’t.”
There was my man’s Brook No Argument Tone.
