Page 163 of Micah
“I was agreeing with you,” he says.
“Uh-huh.”
“It really did suck.”
“It sucked because somebody ignored the maintenance schedule.”
“I didn't?—”
“You.”
I point at him.
“Did.”
“I forgot once.”
“You forgot.”
“Just once,” he murmurs like a petulant child.
I stare.
He has the decency to look sheepish.
“You're lucky I like you.”
“I knew you cared.”
“I didn't say that.”
He grins anyway.
Idiot.
I swear.
I scrub my hands clean at the utility sink, the scent of industrial soap barely masking the lingering smell of liquid nitrogen, machine grease, and frozen bull jizz.
My glamorous life.
The back door swings open.
Sawyer walks in first.
Benji right behind him.
Both of them are entirely too cheerful.
Which immediately makes me suspicious.
“Well?” Sawyer asks.
“You get it sorted?”
I dry my hands on a rag.
“Fuck you.”
