Page 33 of From the Ashes
“Why not hire a bus in Seattle then and just fly?”
“Because, buddy boy, believe it or not, the company doesn’t want to fly you and your fucking motorcycle first class all over the country. And hiring a bus in Seattle is a lot more expensive than grabbing one in Savannah.”
I narrowed my gaze, attempting to burn holes in his fancy-pants blazer with my stare. “I don’t feel like that’s true.”
“Doesn’t matter how you feel,” Tony sighed, going back to his laptop. “Take it up with finance. They’re the ones that made the decision. Not me.”
I huffed out a sigh like a petulant child. “Can’t you get me out of it?”
“Phoenix,” he replied, as gently and sarcastically as possible. “We’re already on the damn bus.”
“I know… but–”
“But nothing!” he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “You made me fly your motorcycle down here and have a special rack mounted on this bus for it in less than twelve hours. You have half a million in the bank and more on the way with how fast this book is selling. All of your wildest fucking dreams have come true and you’re going to sit here on this bus and bitch that you have to sign a few thousand books?”
The look on his face wasdaringme to argue with him. He was all wound up like a snake, ready to strike.
“I just… I just don’t want to do this.”
“Well,” Tony said, snapping his laptop closed. “Too fucking bad. You wanted the dream and now you gotta pay for it. And to beperfectly honest with you, it’s a pretty low price for a lifetime of comfort.”
“No… you’re right.” I let my arms fall to my sides in defeat. “Ugh…”
Tony got up from the small dining table and crossed to the couch, plopping down beside me. His hand went to my thigh, his fingers squeezing through the denim of my jeans.
“Weren’t you the one that told me you wanted to see the world, anyway? Doesn’t this sort of fit into that plan?”
“I want to ride my bike across the country,” I corrected. “Not watch it fly by from inside a bus.”
“At least this is a bit safer, right?”
“And way less fun.”
Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. “You artist types are all the same. You want fun, fun, fun all the time and no work.”
“Uh, yeah. Duh. Who the hell wants to work?”
“Jesus. Never say that around my blue-collar parents, alright? You might start a brawl.”
“What? Why?”
“Because where I’m from, work is life, and it’s something you take a lot of pride in. Telling someone you don’t want to work is basically calling yourself a parasite. And if you tell them that their work isn’t important… well, let’s just say you might not leave with all your teeth.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re never gonna let me meet your parents then,” I said, giving him a nudge with my shoulder.
“They’re already weird about the gay thing. The last thing I want to do is introduce them to my regular hookup.”
“At least this hookup is a cash cow.”
“Yeah. Because ofme.”
“I wrote the book, dummy. You can’t market nothing.”
“Wanna bet? I can think of a dozen people that have made an entire career out of selling nothing.”
He was right of course. He usually was when it came to businessy things. Actually, he was typically right about everything. And it was a good thing too, because I wasn’t that smart, and I’d been wrong enough times in my life to know I couldn’t really trust my intuition. I’d learned that before I’d left Creekside for the last time.
“So how is the sequel coming along?”