Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“And… what’s your rent in this dump?” he asked, pulling up his walls.
“Five hundred eighty, and that’s with a discount for working here.” Still, he took Zane’s money and pushed it into his back pocket.
Was it for a week or a monthly stay? Zane couldn’t tell and wouldn’t ask, because he’d learnt long ago that people’s attitude toward him changed whenever he revealed he didn’t quite understand numbers. He couldn’t attach their symbols to words and had trouble making estimations that came so easily to everyone else. Complete morons were more math-savvy than him, and when they found out, it gave them a sense of superiority they didn’t deserve.
“Oh, yeah, because the bar belongs to the same guy.”
“The truck stop, motel, bar, and diner belong to him, Zane. You outed me to my boss. I do all sorts of shit for him. I’m a bouncer, the DIY and delivery guy, occasional dishwasher, whatever. But hey, there’s perks. He doesn’t care if I drink on the job.”
Zane rolled his eyes, because all that excessive alcohol use would be over. “And now we also know he doesn’t care if you’re gay,” he said, still holding on to Roach’s belt.
“Looks like it. As long as I pay my boyfriend’s rent,” he grumbled.
“I’m worth it though,” Zane said, grinning at Roach when someone beeped at them from the parking lot. He wondered how much Roach earned with a job description so all-encompassing. It wasn’t like he had much else to do than work, so maybe his savings could keep them both afloat for a while.
“Are you gonna at least try to get gigs while you’re here?” Roach asked, and Zane liked the suggestion that if he didn’t, Roach would still make sure they had a roof over their heads.
“Depends on the rate I’m offered. Maybe you could help me negotiate with your boss?” Zane asked, as if it was only a favor, as if he trusted himself to assess the costs but was too lazy to set things up.
“I’ll talk to him. Anything else you can do?” Roach asked, pulling out his keys once they reached the door.
Zane shrugged, but his sense of danger was already beeping. Roach was totally the kind of guy who’d try to pocket some of his cash just because he could. “You know what I can do.”
Roach opened the door and, unbelievably, held it open for Zane, filling the air with a scent reminiscent of caramel-flavored cigarettes. “Arson, murder, and running your mouth. You sure you’ve never done any magic?”
“What is this about? Why would I tie myself with magic to a guy who smokes, drinks, doesn’t eat vegetables beyond a measly tomato slice in his burger, and works nights on top of that? I don’t have a death wish,” Zane mused, frowning at the boxes stacked everywhere in the small room. The place looked as if Roach had recently moved in, even though he’d been staying here for a long time.
“I’m just trying to work it out,” he said, heading for the small wardrobe in the corner and already taking off his hoodie and T-shirt in one go. “Does your family do magic?”
Zane snorted, pushing a box out of his way with the side of his foot. “No. My dad flips burgers, and my mom’s a housewife. You know, since they had seven kids.”
Roach glared at him and took his jeans off as well. “Watch it with the boxes, jeez. Do you think… this is something we should keep on the down-low? The government might want to experiment on us if they found out.”
Zane spun around. Was this a joke? “If anyone told me something like this, I’d be calling the local mental ward, and you’re worried about some conspiracy theory shit? This isn’t the X-Files.”
“Yeah, but we can actually prove this stuff’s real.” Roach was changing into a loose pair of ripped jeans and a paint-stained long sleeve in an olive color that didn’t hurt to look at.
“Unless you want to start making a living as a circus freak, yes, we should definitely keep it on the down-low,” Zane said and opened the offending box, frowning at the stack of belts inside. It was like a flea market in there. “Is this something you wanna sell? Why do you keep all this?”
Roach reached him within three long strides and slapped away his hand. “Don’t look through my shit! I don’t have time to decide what I wanna do about it, but that’s none of your business.”
Zane looked around and pointed at the clutter. “You literally have a tiny passage left in between. Do you use any of this stuff? Are you a hoarder?”
Roach snapped. “Just because we’re fucking, doesn’t mean I have to tell you shit about my life.” He put on a tool belt, and pushed it low on his hips in a way that made Zane bite his lip.