“Ryker has a spare bedroom,” I remind my brother.
“So you go live with him.”
Not a chance.
He wakes all of his guests up by five-thirty to go check on his goats and chickens.
“No Bea, no Hudson,” Daphne says. “You’re only here because I love your sister.”
He grunts, and the couch squeaks, and then all is silent again in the living room.
Margot digs into the tea drawer that Daphne keeps stocked for her, and that I’ve been taking advantage of while I’m here.
“Paris tea? What’s this?” she murmurs.
“It’s a new level of delicious,” I tell her. “You should try it.”
Daph hits the start button on the coffeepot, then on the electric teakettle, and sounds of multiple appliances boiling water fill the air. She reaches into the fridge for a pizza box and drops it on the table, then slides into the booth across from me.
“Are you seeing Simon again today?”
I snort. “No. I’m working the sports association carnival this afternoon.” It’s an annual fundraiser for youth sports clubs in Athena’s Rest. I’m taking the burger bus and donating proceeds, even if things are tight and I can’t quite afford it yet.
“Simon stocked her bag with tissues and eye drops and butterscotch candies,” Daphne whispers loudly to Margot, as if that has any relevance to the sports association carnival. “How cute is that?”
“Why did he have any business putting things in her bag?”
“He bought her a new one to match her dress.” Daph looks at me again. “I know you made him dinner in the bus last night. I saw you. But I didn’t see him leave.”
“He was so completely toasted that he fell asleep at the table and his security guy had to carry him out to the limo to take him home.”
“So you’re taking him a hangover cure?”
I make a face. “No. He was fun, but—no.”
“He’s fucking hilarious,” Hudson calls. “I watched a bunch of interview videos.”
“Go back to sleep. Nobody asked you,” I call back.
“I’ve met him once or twice, but not enough to get a feel for him, so I asked around my circles,” Margot says. “The most dirt anyone has is that his parents are insufferable. Otherwise, everyone thinks he’s great. Even ex-girlfriends.”
“That’s a red flag,” Daph says.
Margot pulls a face at her. “It is not.”
“He probably paid them to only say good things about him.”
“He barely had enough money to help pay for his kids’ clothes and food untilIn the Weedshit big.”
“Ooh, did you pay someone to go through his financials?”
“No, Daphne, it’s straight-up logic. His parents have more or less disowned him, and he was working at restaurants between acting gigs.”
They both look at me as if I’ll be the tiebreaker in their debate, and I don’t cover the wince that I’m wincing fast enough.
“What’s with the face?” Daphne asks me.
“I didn’t make a face.”
