“Right?” I turn to the voice on my right to see Not-Joe standing at the register. He flicks his blond hair out of his face before he reaches for a box cutter¸ using it to open one of the many cardboard boxes behind him. “Work at a comic book store. Thought I’d get to hang out all day, read a little. Maybe sneak out back for a blunt.” He shakes his head as I eye him and continues carefully pulling the contents out of one open box before breaking it down and moving onto another. “But dude, this place? Doesn’t slow down.”

“I can see that,” I say, impressed. “Doesn’t leave much time to browse the merchandise, does it?”

“Me?” he says, then shakes his head again. “I don’t read comic books. This might sound weird, but they kind of confuse me.”

I take in his blond dreadlocked mohawk, the constant, half-stoned glazed look, the white T-shirt he clearly washed with something red at one point. I mean, this is the guy that pierced his own cock. Not sure I’m surprised the comic books overwhelm him. “Not much of a reader?”

“Fiction, mostly,” he admits. “Some biographies. Philosophy, if I have the time. Travel books. A little romance here and there,” he adds.

I spy a worn paperback tucked just below the counter and feel my eyebrows disappear into my hair. I’m pretty sure it isn’t Oliver’s. “Wally Lamb?” I ask. “That’s yours?”

Not-Joe laughs. “Yeah, best book I’ve ever read about overcoming self-loathing and forgiveness. Finding yourself.”

Okay. “I’m... wow.”

Not-Joe shrugs before reaching for another pile of comics. “Plus, it was an Oprah Book Club pick, so you know. What Oprah says...”

“Right,” I say. “So where’s Oliver?”

“Last I saw him, he was in the back. Want me to go grab him for you?”

“No, no. I’m good.” I look around for a moment, debating whether I should let Oliver know I’m here, or just head out and try to catch up with him later. What I should do is go back to the house and get my head straight; at the very least I should call my brothers. Most of the wiring should be replaced by now, but there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach that that will be the least of our problems once they start taking panels off and looking deeper into the boat.

My meeting with the L.A. guys is in just a few days, and I’ve barely thought about what questions I need to ask, or even whether we have another choice but to say yes. This inability to focus on the entire purpose of this trip is exactly why Harlow was right and why we need to take a step back and cool... whatever it is we’re doing.

Fuck. Harlow.