Page 3 of Derek
Theo: Soon to be three.
Theo: I gotta head to Texas here soon, won’t be back for a while.
Jensen: Dude, it’s Pops.
Me: Yeah, he’s also a stubborn, sick old man. What do you want me to do? Leave my job to come home and sit by his bedside?
Jackson: No, but you need to be prepared. Mama is going to need us, and you will be coming home when she does.
Me: Or what?
Jackson: Fuck around and find out.
Carter: OHHHHHHHH!
Jensen: FIGHT! FIGHT!
I hit the ‘do not disturb’ on the text thread before throwing my phone on the coffee table. Something charred hits my nose, and realization dawns on me.
“Son of a bitch!” I growl as I run to the kitchen and rip open the oven door, only to find my meal burned to a crisp. I pull it out and sigh in frustration before turning off the oven. Tomorrow is meal prep day, meaning I have no more meals ready to cook and no groceries to make anything. I don’t order delivery because who would want something that has been in a stranger’s fucking car?
Resigned to the fact that I have to leave my house, I change back into my clothes, grab my keys and wallet, and head to my vehicle. At least if I go to a burrito place or something, I can see them make the food.
* * *
It’sway too fucking crowded in here, and I don’t like that everyone isn’t leaving personal space between them in the line as I walk up to place my order. Unfortunately, I left my phone on the coffee table, so I can’t even pretend to busy myself and not think of all the people in here breathing each other’s expelled air. I am so busy avoiding eye contact that once I get in line, I nearly fall over when someone trips and stumbles into my back.
I whirl around, ready to yell at the person and lecture them on how, had they not been trying to ride my ass, they could’ve avoided falling into me, but as my eyes meet icy blue ones and see wild raven curls, my voice catches in my throat.
“Oh! H-hi Derek!” She smiles at me almost nervously. “Sorry, that was completely my fault.” I stare dumbly at her apologetic face, feeling the heartburn resurface.
“H-Hey, Indy,” I manage to choke out. I glance over her, and fuck, why did I do that? She looks breathtaking, as always. Her hair is down and unmanageable. It reminds me of a longer, black version of Janie’s. Indy is a tiny woman, standing at least a foot shorter than my six-foot-four frame with a petite build. She wears tight, ripped jeans, a bright red bracelet, and a Hel’s Ink Shirt tied in the back, showing off a sliver of her stomach that draws me in more than it has any right to.
Stop staring, you fucking creep.
“How have you been?” She asks and god, please let this heartburn be a heart attack, so I don’t have to do this. I take a step forward in line before speaking.
“Busy.” She nods and continues to fucking smile and even greet each person that passes her. What the fuck is she doing? She can’t go around just talking to people she doesn’t know like that. That is how people get abducted.
“Yeah, I hear things have been chaotic since Ash had to go to Alabama.”
“You would know if you were there,” I mutter, but her stiffening body tells me she heard. She raises a black brow and cocks her head to one side.
“I am there three days a week.” I furrow my brows.
“I’m there six days a week, and I know that you are not–”
“We aren’t on the same schedule,” she interrupts. “I work with Stevie on her double days. I show up when you guys are gone. That’s where I’m heading now.”
Right, those fucking double shifts piss me off. Stevie will work 12-7 PM and then 9-2 AM on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I voted against it, but Stevie insisted. So, on those days, we have a security guard there during those shifts.
“You and Stevie shouldn’t be there alone.” Indy shrugs as we move again.
“We aren’t; Brooks is there those days, occasionally Linc, but either way, one of them is always there.” Brooks owns Knuckles Security Company, a bodyguard service that Janie found a little over a year ago when she decided we needed babysitters during our convention trips. “I hear your birthday is next week.”
I snort, “Yeah, who told you that?”
“A birdie.” She shrugs, and I roll my eyes.
