“Dead or alive?”
“Why do you need to know?”
Newman’s sigh was loud. “It’s called conversation, Hope.”
“You didn’t want to know about him before, why now?”
“I never wanted to know before, now I do.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m weird, when you dress like a thrift shop model? When you snap and snarl all the time if anyone wants to converse with you. And don’t get me started on your inability to understand the nuances of living in a community. Basic stuff like greeting people has always been beyond you.”
“Bite me,” she muttered.
Newman looked at the soft skin on the lobe of her ear, and thought it would be a nice place to gently sink his teeth.
This has to stop.
“So, your dad?”
“Left when I was six.”
“That has to be tough.”
Hope shrugged, but he wasn’t fooled.
“So did you keep in touch?”
“I was six.”
“Right, so he kept in touch then.”
She shrugged again. “For a bit, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Newman went for another question. “So where are you going now?”
“Back to my room to sleep.”
“And after that?” Newman said with exaggerated politeness. “Because even you can’t sleep in your room 24/7.”
She shrugged again, and he battled down his anger.
“Tell me about limp dick Jay, or I’ll shadow you until you do.”
They glared at each other across the table.
“Ryan’s in London. His band has just scored an excellent gig as warm-up act for a major band. It could be his big break.”
“I’m pleased for him, now spill.” Ryan was Hope’s big brother, who unlike his sister, had manners and for a time had hung out with Newman and his friends.
“No.”
“Fine, I have all day. The idiots I came here to help don’t want to implement anything I say, so I’m done trying. I now have two days left here twiddling my thumbs until my flight out. Trailing you around will soak up some time.”
Newman forked in a mouthful of pancake, his eyes on Hope.
“So, in the cab on the way home from your foray into exotic dancing, you told me you thought I was hot.”
