Some Assembly Required Read Online Free Page A

offspring. Perfect. He pointed his fingers like a gun at the guy and smiled, full of smugness. “Don’t tell me. Derrick, right?”
    The guy smiled crookedly, confused by the question. “Sorry? I’m Benjami—Benji.” He nodded. “Benji. Only my mother calls me Benjamin.”
    Patrick sucked in an overdramatic sigh and snapped his fingers. “Dammit. Swore you looked like a Derrick. I’m usually so good at that.”
    “So, you’re psychic.” Benji smirked.
    “No.” Patrick pulled a face of mock hurt. “I’m Patrick.”
    “But your name tag says Tommy,” Benji said, glancing at his chest.
    Patrick blinked and patted the plastic tag. “So it does.” He pointed a finger and pressed his lips together, assuming a stern expression. “So you’re not a Derrick. But I promise I’m 100 percent psychic.”
    “Oh really?” Benji glanced out the tall windows. The sunny day filled the café. Robins busied themselves building a nest on the ledge. “So, what am I thinking right now?”
    Patrick grinned. “You’re thinking you need to try out the MILAN bed up in the bedding showroom.”
    Agnes was going to fucking kill him.

Chapter Three: PROLUNGA
    Could anything compare to the smell of plastic and particleboard in the morning?
    Well, lots of things probably could. Queequeg Coffee, for one. His mother’s freshly baked apple pie. The Mrs. Meyer’s Clean Day basil soap that he hoarded every time it was in stock at Scope.
    The candy apple red circle décor motif of Scope seemed to try to take the edge off the unconscious suggestion of a military sniper’s laser targeting. But it was easier ignoring the odd, checkered past involvement of the founder’s political leanings. A senator of questionable morals founded Benji’s favorite office supply store. It was his CASA of office supply needs. How politicians got into marketing everything from bedding to pencils was a strange tale.
    But CASA had none of those torrid stories and scandals. The Italians had seen to that. CASA had its host of urban legends. From babies being born to weddings, it was all the talk of social media. CASA was definitely in the top ten of Benji’s favorite places.
    Benji inhaled deeply and let the scent wash over him. Everything about CASA screamed fresh start and endless opportunity. It was pretty much impossible to feel anything but optimistic when standing in a CASA. For him, at least. The couple sitting a few tables over probably didn’t agree, judging by the angry way the woman was turning pages in the thick CASA catalog in front of her while the man stared off into space, balancing one of the nubby golf pencils the store provided on his knuckles.
    There was a family of six against the back wall. The parents traded exhausted looks over the heads of the four kids chattering eagerly about Bambini Mondo.
    Benji smiled at Patrick-Not-Tommy, and he returned it with a slow, easy grin like he’d heard a dirty joke he was eager to repeat.
    “So, what do you do, Patrick-Not-Tommy?” Benji skewered a meatball and gestured with it like the pointer he used for the kids to sound out their ABCs.
    He obviously didn’t work in the café since he wasn’t wearing the black chef’s uniform. And even though he had the right shirt on to work the floor, his jeans weren’t the CASA uniform kind.
    God. How sad was it that he knew what the freaking CASA uniform was? He definitely spent too much time here.
    “Patrick,” he said as he picked at his thumbnail. “You need to stick with me here, Derrick.”
    “Benji.”
    Patrick waved a dismissive hand as if he were swatting away flies. “Benji’s a terrier with a series of kid movies. Derrick is a guy I could get behind.”
    Benji coughed and concentrated on his knuckles. How could this guy just waltz in here and make everything drip with innuendo? He’d never keep a straight face in front of the kids tomorrow.
    “I said,” Benji said, trying to get things back on track, “what do you