Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“Oooh!” Jag’s eyes widened, and he smiled, attempting to climb in through the window, but Ezra laughed and pushed him back.
“Use the door!”
Jag huffed and landed back on the ground. “Fine. Would have been quicker,” he mumbled, disappearing from sight.
It would have also meant mud on the kitchen counter. Ezra knew, because it had happened before. Dealing with Jag was like training a half-feral dog, but as far as dogs went, he was loyal and could, for the most part, clean up after himself.
Joy flickered in Ezra’s chest, and he tossed a little piece of grilled chicken toward the door as soon as it opened. “Catch!”
When Jag snapped his teeth, grabbing the morsel like an animal, Ezra broke into laughter and couldn’t stop for a while. Jag was the weirdest person Ezra had ever met, and yet was also completely unself-conscious about it. Unlike any of Ezra’s friends, Jag didn’t give a shit when the people around him made gentle digs at his outfits, or that he didn’t do some things the way everyone else did. He said what he thought in the most straightforward ways, and it was as refreshing, as it was scary.
Around him, Ezra let his guard down a little, because what on earth would he have to prove to someone who thought wearing three belts and a necklace made out of old keys was the height of fashion?
So yeah, Ezra didn’t care that Jag would see him in a loose hoodie and sweatpants. They were clean and of decent quality after all.
“I’ll give you some later to take home,” Ezra said, switching off the burner under the pot of turkey stew, and wiped his hands on the apron. “Do you have time for a game?” he asked, because he’d been trying to teach Jag the basics of playing cards, and fantasized about starting a weekly game night for the whole junkyard crew. Maybe soon he could bring that idea to Frank?
Jag glanced at the kitchen table with a serious frown, but eventually shook his head. “No. Frank asked me to do a few important things.” He patted the leather sack at his hip, which Ezra thought of as the medieval belly bag.
Ezra hummed. “He said he’ll be back late. What is this about?” he asked and stacked the lunch boxes before storing them in the massive fridge.
Jag pulled out several items from his pouch and placed them on the table.
A calculator.
A vintage wooden box.
A plastic cup with a glitter handle.
Three different watches. A plastic kids’ one, one with a leather strap, and one—a golden women’s watch that looked surprisingly expensive.
Its presence made Ezra glance at the Rolex on his wrist, but Jag kept going and set several pieces of jewelry on the table, finishing off his collection with a small glass (crystal?) ball that had a skull-shaped stand.
“I bring him interesting things I find. I’m not always sure which ones people value, but he knows.”
“Find where? At the junkyard?” Ezra asked and picked up a bracelet that appeared antique. He wasn’t an expert but the damn thing seemed to be made of gold. A lot of gold at that! Heat sizzled in his cheeks as he examined the finds one after another. The golden watch was a Tissot.
Jag wrapped his muscular arms on his chest and smiled with pride. “Yep. It’s filled with treasure. Frank doesn’t have time to deal with all of my findings, but he does say which to put away for safe keeping. I could show you.”
Ezra looked up as the house shrunk around him. “You mean there’s more of this?”
Jag frowned. “Of course. I’ve been keeping it safe, dry, and it’s ready to be looked at when he finds the time.”
The cogs in Ezra’s brain turned as he put the remaining food into the fridge before facing Jag with renewed energy. If Frank didn’t have the time to process items that might be worth a pretty penny, maybe Ezra could help him with that too?
“And you’re allowed to show me?” he asked.
Jag shrugged. “Of course. You’re his mate. What’s his, is yours.”
Ezra choked on words as his brain filled with cotton candy that definitely shouldn’t taste so sweet. “He said that?”
Jag cocked his head. “He doesn’t need to. It’s obvious. So which things do we take, and which do we leave?” He pointed to the table, as Ezra’s head pulsed with one word.
Mate.
Mate.
Mate.
Was he? Frank’s mate? It sounded so primal, not at all like boyfriend, or life partner, or even husband. And he liked it.
Shaking his head, he ditched the insistent thoughts and wrote Frank a note, just in case he popped in during the day and got worried about Ezra’s absence. “Why do you say that?” he asked, picking up the things he thought could be valuable, and that included the glass ball, since it could be vintage. He’d have to check online.