“Cool. What’s up with your vagina?”
She scowls at me. “Go away, Gable.”
“Yeast infection? HPV? Pap smear?”
“Why,” she stresses the word, “do you know so much about gynecologist appointments?”
“I worked in a doctor's office,” I say, keeping pace with her as we head toward the flower shop.
She tucks her phone into her bag and looks up at me. “Really?”
“Nope. So, where are we actually going?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Sundays are supposed to be peaceful.” She raises her hands to the sky. “It’s God’s day. Why is the Devil following me?”
I grin. I like being called that. It isn’t the first time. I’ve been called it before I killed people, I’ve been called it by women, but it feels particularly satisfying coming from someone I hate.
“Maybe I’m following you because I like you.”
She scoffs so loud it looks painful. “Please, you like me about as much as I like you, and I’d rather rub my bare ass over a fire ants’ nest than be this close to you. So, tell me, what do youwant?”
Okay, think.What do you know about Ella Gibson?She’s a writer. She’s annoying as hell. Her dad is a cop. All true but all useless when it comes to distracting her for another … I glance at my watch. An hour and a half left? Jesus.
There’s one thing I definitely know about her.
“Fine.” I sigh, not needing to feign my annoyance. “My brother likes you, really likes you, so I figure we should at leasttryto get along for his sake. Even if I do sometimes daydream about pushing you into traffic.”
Ella narrows her eyes. She’s rightfully suspicious, but even she can’t deny that though I’m an asshole, and I know I am, I also love Asher more than anything. And I’ll put up with a hell of a lot if it keeps him happy.
She huffs. “Fine. So, what do you propose we do? Hold hands and sing?”
“No, I don’t want to catch anything from you,” I say, glancing around. “Oh! A bar. I can tolerate you if I’m drunk.”
Twenty minutes, two shots each, and one beer down, I’m not close to drunk, but apparently Ella is a total lightweight and is determined to drink as quickly as I am. She knocks back her third shot of tequila and shudders so hard the table shakes.
I grimace. “You’re so fucking weird.”
“I’m adorable,” she says, pulling the ugliest face I’ve ever seen as she sucks on a lemon like it’s her salvation. She suddenly slaps her palms flat on the table, and the shot glasses tumble over. “Okay, let’s get to know each other. Tell me something likable about you.”
I look at my watch. One hour. One fucking hour.
Hurry up, Asher.
“I have a dog,” I say, sipping my beer.
Ella thinks for a moment. “Okay, that’s fair. Something likable about me? I can quote every line fromThe Other Guys.”
I sigh. “That’s not likable. That movie sucks.”
“Don’t go chasing waterfalls.”
“Stop it.”
“Desk pop.”
I run my hand down my face. I know of at least four ways that I could kill her with this shot glass. Four ways. It would be so easy.
She pushes her beer bottle next to mine. When she sees how much I’ve already finished, she takes several deep swigs to catch up.
