Under Locke by Mariana Zapata Read Free Book Online Page A

I would’ve worried he thought I sucked as a human being or something. “No shit?”
     
    “No shit.”
     
    Slim had shifted his hips to face me more comfortably, one leg still tossed over the other, the coy fish tattoo on his forearm right in front of my face. “No tats?”
     
    I shook my head, a little embarrassed.
     
    “Piercings?”
     
    My face flamed, but I shook my head anyway. “Do my earlobes and cartilage count?”
     
    The grin on his face spread so wide I thought it’d be painful. “You’re kidding.”
     
    “I’m not.” The infectious grin contaminated me. "How many do you have?"
     
    "Not that many." Slim pointed at the wide gauges stretching his earlobes. "Two." He stuck his tongue out. "Three." Luckily, he just pointed at the right side of his chest. "Four."
     
    My eyes went wide.
     
    "Blake! How many piercings do you have?" he yelled, trying to get Blake's attention from the other side of the divider.
     
    "Seven!"
     
    Slim nodded. "Blue doesn't count because she has at least ten, and I think Dex only has three now." He tipped his chin up, giving me a teasing smile. "You should think about getting one." He paused. "Or three."
     
    I put my palms up and shrugged . " Maybe ." I almost told him I had been thinking about getting something, but I kept my mouth closed.
     
    He slowly got to his feet, patting around his back pocket. "I'm gonna go get a sub from the deli next door. Want something?"
     
    "No thanks." What a nice guy.
     
    "Blake, you want something from Sal's?" he asked.
     
    "Six inches," was his initial reply before adding something like "salami" at the end of his request.
     
    I didn't hear that though because that was when I did it.
     
    I shouldn’t have been surprised. I had the worst habit in the universe of just blurting shit out of my mouth without thinking. I liked to blame the fact that my mom, brother, and yia-yia were the same way. Hell, even Sonny said whatever came to mind and he wasn't even on the right side of the family.
     
    Some families passed on traits like bad eyesight, receding hair lines, stuff like that. My mom's side of the family passed on diarrhea of the mouth. Add that onto the fact that Will and I used to catch each other with the same joke every chance we had, and it was inevitable.
     
    So I blurted out the dumbest crap I could ha ve said in a mix of a snicker and an amused laugh that everyone in the parlor could hear. It was instinct.
     
    “That's what she said.”
     
    Silence.
     
    Friggin’ silence followed.
     
    Three seconds of quiet time filled the shop. Even the low buzzing noise of the gun was strangely absent in my words’ wake.
     
    And then they all—Slim, Blake, Blue, and the customer at Blue’s st ation —burst out laughing and howling. Laughing and howling at the same time.
     
    Crap.
     
    Blake pressed his forehead against the divider while his shoulders shook. Meanwhile, Slim covered his face with both of his slender artist hands as his chest vibrated.
     
    “Did that really come out of your mouth or am I imagining it?"
     
    I face-planted the desk. “Oh God, I'm sorry, Blake.” I’d muttered. “It just...came out."
     
    “She got you good,” one of them barked out loudly before making a noise that sounded like a cry right as it dissolved into a cackle.
     
    “What the fuck are you guys laughin' at?” that melodic voice asked from somewhere behind me.
     
    I didn’t have it in me to look up because I was mortified.
     
    Mortified because I was A) an idiot, B) an idiot, and C) an idiot. I didn't know these guys and that was rude, wasn't it?
     
    Luckily Slim managed to get something out when Blake started laughing even louder. “Blake—Iris—six inches,” he gasped.
     
    I tilted my head over to shoot Slim the most withering look in the world. I probably looked more constipated than mad. "I said I was sorry."
     
    “What?” Dex asked again.
     
    Someone patted my head, which was still friendly with the lacquered