“I believe the word you’re looking for isorgasms.”
“Whatever. I owe you.”
“When?”
“You pick. I gotta go.”
She squats down to talk to Queenie who’s been stalking her ankles. “I’ll be back this afternoon. Don’t go ballistic, okay?”
“Meow.”
Lot straightens. “I’m not sure that was agreement. I’ll try to get her into the carrier.”
After a mini drama involving treats and the plushie, Queenie is finally locked inside, hissing with fury.
“Sorry, girl,” Lot sympathizes. “I’d hate to be jailed like that too.” Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine, Lot. I knew what you meant.”
“Shit, Dice. I know you don’t like talking about it.”
“I don’t,” I say flatly. Jasinder Jones is my least favorite subject. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve gotta get going.” I brush it off and walk her tothe door.
She slips on the stilettos, wobbling a bit.
“Making quite a fashion statement,” I say, throwing her a grin and lightening the mood.
“Right?” She kicks one heel back like a showgirl.
I help her into her coat and keep my hands on the lapels even after she’s shrugged it on. I pull her in a fraction. “Do I get a goodbye kiss?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because kissing outside of bed action might complicate things.”
“Lot,nothingabout us is uncomplicated. Just kiss me.” I lean in. “You know you want to.”
“God, you’re cocky.” But her arms loop around my neck anyway. Her lips press to mine, warm and parted, giving me her tongue. A kiss intoxicating enough to make my knees dip.
She pulls back first, eyes slightly glazed. “Gotta go.”
“Damn, you pack a punch. I might not survive you.”
A flicker of a smile plays at the corner of her mouth before she’s gone. Wearing my sweats and those sexy stilettos, she moves like sin down the walkway with her keys dangling. I watch until Lot pulls away from the curb, then return to Queenie. She’s still howling like she’s been abducted.
Through the bars of the carrier, I see the green glare of betrayal. I’ve seen that look before. Brown eyes. A cold burn. Concrete walls. My mother’s face.
Nope. Not today. Jasinder made her choices. And I made mine.
Shaking off the memory like a bad chill, I crouch by Queenie’s carrier and pop the latch. She creeps out cautiously, tail high and twitching like she’s conducting a threat assessment. She paces to the front door, looking for Lot, then roams the rooms and returns. As if realizing her person’s gone, she settles on the couch like a sulking queen.
I slide two slices of bread into the toaster, then scramble four eggs and nuke them. That’s the extent of my culinary talent. Used to beLot’s too, but now she apparently cooks. I let the eggs cool a bit before I inch some of the scramble toward Queenie on my palm. She sniffs, then nibbles and comes back for more.
“Okay, Queenie. I see you.”
After I wash the rest of my breakfast down with coffee and juice, I toss her a few more treats. I then flip through some vinyl, slide on my headphones, and let the music wrap around me.
