Gable
Idon’t fucking like brunch.
It’s pointless—a meal made up by people who need an excuse to drink before midday or people who sleep in too damn late and don’t want to admit they missed breakfast. It isn’t for people like me. So why am I at one?
But fuck, mimosas are delicious.
“Just be nice,” Asher reminds me for the tenth fucking time.
I stare at him, eyebrows low, patience wearing thin, and Ella isn’t even here yet. “I don’t do nice. When have I ever done fucking nice?”
“Learn,” Asher says, matching my expression.
This is becoming more and more of an issue. Asher is still dating Ella, and it’s been over two weeks. We shouldn’t even still be in California, and we definitely shouldn’t be living in the apartment of the guy we killed.
We aren’t returning to the crime scene; we’re fucking camping out at it.
And the worst thing is, Asher is enjoying himself.
Okay, not the fucking worst thing—it is nice to see himhappy or whatever, but this can’t go on forever. This is a temporary relationship, afakeone, so getting in this deep is not going to end well. Asher will be heartbroken, and that makes our plan to hightail it out of here pretty fucking depressing.
“We shouldn’t even be here,” I bark. “Why don’t you just invite her dad, too?”
Asher avoids my eye, and when realization hits me, I grab my brother’s collar.
“Asher Flynn, if her father walks through that fucking door?—”
“He wants to make sure you’re not a fucking serial killer,” Asher whispers.
I stare at him. “Oh, my good God,what do you think is going to happen here?” I hiss out the words, face hot, about to fucking leave. “Are you gonna sweep all your kills under the carpet, have two kids, and drive a fucking SUV? Barbecue with cops on the weekend and pray they never ask for your fingerprints or DNA?”
“We have to do this. For the drive.”
“This is not for the drive anymore, you lying piece of?—”
Asher shoots to his feet. “Ella.”
Ella grins as she walks over to us, almost dancing. “Hiya. Dad’s parking.” She kisses Asher. “You look so nice.”
Asher beams. “So do you.”
Fucking happy prick.
I’m going to kill everyone at this table with a fork. It’ll make headline news, and I’ll gladly be known for it. Gable Flynn: Fork Assassin.
Ella throws me a bored glance. “Gable.”
“Gibson.”
“Be nice to my dad,” she warns, sitting. “He can arrest you.”
“I bet he could,” I say, smiling sweetly. I finish my second mimosa because fuck everyone, I’ll enjoy a goddamn mimosa if I want to.
“He’s nervous,” Asher says, kissing the back of Ella’s hand.
“He should be. He’s not very likable.”
I glare at her. “Well, your dad has you for a daughter, so he must have some semblance of patience.”
