Slack: A Day in the Life of Ford Aston

What a productive morning.

I grin widely.

The coffee’s still hot, I ran, I got a blowjob, and I’m ready for whatever the f**k this stupid Christmas Eve decides to throw at me.

Life could be worse.

Chapter Two

My phone rings and I glance over at the screen. “Fuck.” I pick it up and swipe my fingers. “What’s up?”

“I need a small, you available?”

He sounds paranoid and this means I can mess with his head, so I take a loud slurping sip of coffee and swallow. “I have a date tonight. Will we be finished by ten?”

“Shut the f**k up and come get me, you freak. I’m at DIA, west terminal, parking garage level two, behind a blue station wagon, near the south elevators. Do the call and I’ll come out when you get here.”

“Merc, I swear, if you complicate my life today, I’ll be—” I get the three quick beeps on my phone that tells me the line went dead. I hope he hung up on me and didn’t get caught in whatever scheme he’s involved in this time.

Goddammit.

I walk to the bedroom and pull on a white t-shirt. I wanted to wear a suit today but Merc will be looking like a vagrant, and a suit would make us stand out. So this is it. I open the patio door and check the temperature, it’s still mild. Not as warm as it was when I was running this morning, the cold front is getting closer. But still forties, easy.

I grab my leather jacket and stuff my keys and phone into the pockets. There’s a small bag sitting on the pet mat and I bend down and pick it up. What the hell? She’s leaving me things? I open it up and I’m accosted with the scent of homemade cookies. I take one out and bite, chewing as I wait for the elevator. They’re pretty good. When the ding comes and the doors open, I toss the bag back down on the pet mat and leave it for later.

Someone gets on a few floors below. Woman with a dog. She nods and I’m just about to turn my head and ignore her when Rook comes to mind. I smile and dog lady starts chatting about the weather.

“Yes,” I say, agreeing with her about the coming snow.

See, this is why I ignore people. They talk to you if you acknowledge them. But Rook is friendly, so maybe she likes friendly guys? Ronin is friendly. And Spencer even more so. So I figure if I want Rook to like me, then I should try to emulate the other people in her life whom she likes. Ronin is her number one and Spencer is not far behind. She’s always smiling with Spencer. He makes her laugh. Ronin makes her blush.

And me? I make her uncomfortable.

The elevator doors open and I nod at the chatty dog woman as she gets off. “Nice talking to you,” I say amicably. She sets her dog down and hurries off, calling out a good day to me as she goes.

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

The doors close and I descend to the parking garage and then make my way over to the Bronco, Rook still on my mind. I sigh as I picture her with Ronin. Why? Why him? Of all people? I like Ronin these days, he’s not a bad guy. But why does he always get the f**king girl?

I met Ronin on his first day of high school. Spencer and I grew up together—he lived across the street from us, in fact. We both went to St. Margaret’s for elementary and middle school, so Spencer graduating up to the Catholic high school was something I looked forward to. Since I had my truck, I picked him up on his first day of ninth grade. Ronin came along as part of the package. I’m two years older than them, so I was already in high school when Spence and Ronin were putting the Team together back at St. Margaret’s.

Spencer got in the front seat, looking like a f**king linebacker for the Broncos—that’s how big he was at fifteen, and Ronin got in the back, looking like a f**king Calvin Klein underwear model.

He was too young for that kind of modeling back then, but I know for a fact he did jeans and sportswear. His life was bizarre. And not in a bad way, but bizarre in a way that makes people jealous. He never spent the entire school year in actual school. And our high school was pretty strict about attendance, but did Ronin Flynn have to abide by the rules?

No.

Antoine f**king Chaput stepped in and glossed it all over so Ronin could leave every month or so for a few days to go shoot in New York or LA for his own work, or just travel with Antoine and Elise for Chaput Photography. The girls went wild over him. Our school was co-ed, but the boys and girls were separated for classes, and the only time we got to mix was during lunch or at afterhours events.

Sitting with Ronin at lunch was enough to give any guy an inferiority complex, but add my social limitations to that mess, and it was torture for me.

I get in the Bronco and start her up. It’s not too cold so I don’t bother letting the engine warm up, just put her in gear and head out towards Denver International. The drive is long. They made this airport a while back and it was in the middle of the Denver expansion. That was their excuse for why the f**king place had to be an hour outside of the damn city. It takes forever to get there. Literally in the middle of nowhere. Which means I have all this time to sit and stew on why Ronin gets the girls and I get the pets.

Fucking pets.

Not that I don’t enjoy them, I do. I like the sex, they’re good at it. And the girl this morning is not bad. She’s pretty in her blonde way. She’s trying hard to please me. She keeps her mouth shut. She’s acceptable.

But I want Rook.

Rook is all those things the pet is, times a million. She’s obedient, she’s submissive, and she’s beautiful—far, far more beautiful than the girl this morning. And Rook is smart. She might not think so, she’s always down on herself about school. But she’s smart in all the ways that count. Plus, she likes to run. I love that. Love that. I miss her running with me so f**king bad. It kills me to run alone after having her as a partner for half the year. I hate it. It takes all the joy out of it.