Chapter 15
“God, Tabitha, you are an iron-clad bitch.”
Tabitha, the b***h in question, was a petite brunette, her golden skin as even and expensive as a tanning bed and high-quality skin creams could make it. She wrinkled her forehead at Vin. “That’s five dollars you already owe my swear bucket,” she said.
Vin let go of one end of the resistance band, his calf screaming with agony. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, removed three crisp twenties, and handed them to her. The cuss bucket proceeds weren’t hers; she’d cleared that with him the very first day. Instead, all the monies collected by crotchety patients were donated on a monthly basis to Heroes for Life, a local children’s hospital fund. Vin wondered how much of Tabitha’s slave-driving physical therapy ideals came from her
