Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Don’t bring lunch.”
“Whoa . . . hold on a sec—” The door closed on her protestation and he was walking down the road to his store before she could even begin to formulate a proper response.
It was colder than a witch’s tit this evening, and Spencer hadn’t really expected much of a turnout. The kids were barely interested in any of the activities he organized at the best of times, and Spencer figured freezing temperatures combined with an outdoor activity would definitely serve as the ultimate turnoff for most of them.
He was stomping his feet to keep the circulation going, steam from his own breath clouding his vision, as he hopefully watched the local sports field’s entrance. The field generally served as a rugby, soccer, and cricket arena, and a lot of people used the track for jogging. In summer it hosted the community fete and various other social functions. Old ladies did their tai chi here when the heat in the gym got too claustrophobic. But in winter—aside from the high school soccer or rugby matches—it remained relatively unused. Spencer had had the—probably misguided—idea to rope Mason in to teach a few self-defense classes for his youth outreach program. He figured the kids would love to learn from a pro like Mason, but on a night like this even someone with as much badass cred as Mason might not be enough of a drawcard for already unmotivated kids.
“Why couldn’t we have done this at the gym or the community center?” Mason groused, blowing hot air into his cupped hands and swearing under his breath.
“You’re getting soft, Mase. I thought the weather didn’t bother you.”
“Easy living will do that to you,” his brother said with a cocky grin. “I can tolerate the weather when necessary. This doesn’t seem necessary. Not when we have perfectly good interior alternatives.”
“Yeah, well, Harry ‘the Ass’ Walters doesn’t want a bunch of ‘young hooligans’—his words—fucking up his expensive gym equipment. And I told you, man, the community center has a water leak. The place is flooded. We’re working on fixing the problem, but until then this is the only place we can come to for the youth program.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to show up, Spence,” Mason said, his voice almost apologetic. He knew how much the program meant to Spencer.
“Let’s give them a few more minutes. Some of them have to travel a distance to get here. I’m thinking of chartering a bus or something to pick them up every week. But it’s tough finding a driver who’s willing to go to some of the places these kids live.”
Mason nodded, and they stood in silence for a moment before the younger man spoke again.
“I didn’t mean to spring the news on you like that. About moving to Grahamstown, I mean.”
“Well, I was kind of expecting it. You can’t exactly go to university in Riversend, can you?”
“Yeah, but five years is quite a stretch.”
“Better than twelve years,” Spencer responded, referring to the last time Mason had left. “And at least this time you won’t be on the other side of the world.”
Spencer wasn’t happy to be losing his only family again, but he wasn’t about to reveal to Mason how he felt. His brother had enough on his plate without having to worry about Spencer’s feelings.
“Daff says you and Daisy want a mixed stag and hen?” Spencer said, changing the subject. Mason grimaced.
“It’s weird, right?” he said with a slight shake of his head.
“Off-the-charts weird,” Spencer agreed. “What the fuck, bro?”
“Daisy mentioned it, and she looked so damned cute and hopeful I found myself agreeing to it before I knew what I was doing.”
“Come on, Mase. At least put up a semblance of a fight. If you’re already crumbling over shit like this, you’ll never have a say in anything in your marriage.”
Mason laughed.
“It’s not like that. The stag thing isn’t important, and if it makes Daisy happy then that’s all that matters. I just think it’s bizarre as fuck to have a mixed thing, is all.”
“Daff and I were thinking we could start off separately and the two parties could merge later in the evening.”
“Daff, huh?” Mason crossed his arms and tucked his hands beneath his armpits.
“We’re just getting a jump on the whole maid of honor/best man thing.”
“You guys aren’t going to kill each other and break my fiancée’s heart, right?”
“Depends on how much more of a bitch Daff is.”
“Come on, she’s not that bad.” Spencer said nothing in response to that, merely watched Mason with raised brows, and the latter laughed.
“You’re the one with the hard-on for her,” Mason pointed out, and Spencer ran an irate hand through his hair.
“I’m over that.” And he was, despite giving in to his really odd whim to take her lunch that afternoon. Even odder was the fact that it couldn’t be dismissed as an impulse. He had prepared the extra sandwich before work, fully intending to give it to Daff. He couldn’t explain what had motivated the act any more than he could explain the knowledge that he was going to do the same thing tomorrow. Maybe it was because he knew that she’d probably packed a salad in her misguided attempt to diet. He was pissed off with her, sure, but he didn’t really want her to starve herself.