The Keys to Jericho Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jericho take the same bitch pills this morning? I think it’s you two who are on the rag.”
    Rio’s eyes lift to mine. “Hey, Beckett,” he greets with a relieved smile, probably because he doesn’t have to listen to Dash alone.
    River Duquesne— Rio, as I came to call him in college for the Spanish word of his name. He’s the quiet one, but you know what they say about those fucks, and it’s all true. He’s also the pretty one, which he hates being called. Girls love his habitual facial scruff, chaotic brown hair, and orgasmic blue eyes. Ever since Dash referred to Rio’s eyes that way, it’s the only description that comes to mind now. Asshole . Rio and I met right after we had started college as freshmen, although we both were going to different colleges. Rio was majoring in psychology at Towson University, while I was studying civil engineering at Johns Hopkins. I needed a job nearby to pay for my car and insurance, so I got one at Target, where Rio happened to work since high school. He showed me around and helped me not look like a total fuckup. We became immediate friends, which surprised the hell out of me. The next semester, we even took Spanish at the same time so we could help each other. Then our sophomore year, we found an apartment between our campuses and moved into that so we wouldn’t have to live in the shitty dorms. We actually shared some similarities. The biggest one was that we lost our mothers when we were kids. He lost his mother to ovarian cancer when he was 16, which was unusual for someone her age. He said she died shortly after being diagnosed. Rio had majored in psychology to help people with their losses, but then he decided that becoming a physician assistant was what he really wanted. Currently, he works in a gynecology/obstetrics practice. I think he’s looking for that one to save to honor his mother. I admire him for that, but think it’s futile because it won’t bring her back. However, if it gives him some sort of peace, why not, I guess. In spite of that honorable, yet misguided, reasoning, I have to razz him for hanging between legs all day for money. That absolutely cannot be helped.
    I slap Rio on his gray-T-shirted shoulder as we turn to walk inside. “What’s up, doc?”
    Shaking his head, he mutters, “Same old, same old.” He looks over his shoulder and then past me before shrugging. “I can’t complain.”
    I laugh and give his shoulder a shake. “You never do.” I probably could torch Rio’s truck and he still wouldn’t complain. Much. He’d break my legs with a baseball bat, but he’d do it without complaint.
    We walk into the building and Dash does the talking, as usual, shamelessly flirting with the hostess, who happens to be gawking at Duquesne instead. Again, as usual. Glancing at the floor with his hands in his pockets, Rio doesn’t normally acknowledge any attention he gets from females, since it makes him uncomfortable. Cool and collected Rio is rather socially awkward when it comes to the opposite sex. On the other hand, I don’t even care. If I want to talk to a girl, I approach her first. I can’t comprehend how Rio snagged a girlfriend, let alone a mouthy one. I’ll never win any congeniality contests either, so I’m guessing he must’ve showed her his dick first. It had to have been something like that.
    We’re escorted to our booth, where Dash excitedly slides across the shiny, dark green bench.
    The hostess asks, “Is this booth okay or is there anything else I can get for you?” She looks at Rio, who’s staring down the front doors like he wants to bolt.
    I nod at Dash. “He could probably use a kid’s menu and some crayons.”
    He scrunches up his face in a pout and after the hostess leaves, gripes, “Kiss my ass, Jericho.”
    Since Rio is sitting in the middle of the other seat in the booth, I sit down next to Dash, and laugh at his sulky expression before I try loosening up Rio. “How was work, Duquesne?”
    Ever