She ran up the steps and opened the door while CJ got the two bagsful of items that would build their Ferris wheel. He climbed the stairs, opened the screen door and peeped into the house. There was no sign of Skye.
“Is it okay to come in?” he called.
“Yeah,” she called from one of the rooms.
When he walked in, he took in the stack of dirty dishes in the sink, the greasy stove, and the stuffy, overcrowded place. Two air mattresses took up most of the floor space while on the ratty sofa, a pillow sat atop a neatly folded blanket.
Skye opened the door and CJ glimpsed a bathroom vanity before she slammed the door shut. She’d changed from her uniform into a Polo-style minidress, putting her legs, pretty feet, and figure on full display.
“Are you hungry?” She rushed to the fridge and threw it open. It wasn’t overflowing but it wasn’t empty either. “I can fry us some bacon and eggs.”
Glancing around for a place to sit, CJ shook his head. “We need to start on the project. I’ll eat later.”
“Do you mind if I eat?”
“Go ahead. I’ll start separating each part and cataloging them.”
“You can sit on the sofa.”
“It looks like someone’s bed.”
“Mine, but it also doubles as seating.”
CJ took the seat while Skye busied herself in the kitchen.
“May I ask you something?” she asked a few minutes later.
The scent of delicious bacon filled the small space, stirring hunger in CJ. “What was earlier about?”
“Which earlier?” CJ poured the contents of one of the bags onto the sofa. “There were many.”
“Under the bleachers. With your brothers and your friends.”
“My cousins.” CJ picked out the long metal rods and began placing them in their own pile. “All three of those fuckheads are my cousins. Rory’s dad and my dad are brothers and Devon and Ryan’s mom and my dad are sister and brother.”
“So, they’re Rory’s cousins, too? He has the reddish blond hair, right?”
Done with that pile, he scoped out the shorter rods. “He’s the fuckface, dickhead, motherfucker. And, yeah, they’re cousins too, but not because Uncle Johnnie and Aunt Zoann are siblings. It’s because my great-grandfather was the original fuckface, dickhead, motherfucker. Rory inherited everyone of that fuckbag’s genes.”
“You were really angry with them.”
CJ began piling the screws. “You’re talking in past tense. I’mcurrentlyangry with those motherfuckers.”
“May I ask what they did?”
“You may, but don’t expect a fucking answer. It’s family business. Private.”
“I won’t tell.”
“I don’t know you well enough to believe you, so drop the fucking subject. I’m not telling you.”
“Right.” She sounded hurt.
CJ didn’t give a fuck.
“I’ll get my food.”
He hoped he’d purchased all the tools he needed. “Yeah, do that.”
