“Uh-oh,” I say in a mock serious tone. Dad side-eyes me. He only gets defensive about people he cares about. “Pop’s got a girlfriend,” I singsong.
“Real mature, Frances.” He starts to back away from the car.
“Says the man who’s running away. That’s okay, we can talk about it tomorrow when I meet her.” That has him stopping in his tracks. I’m not dumb. I know my dad has dated and hooked up—internal skeevies—but he never brought any of them around, which makes me wonder if this Belinda is special, or if he really has reason to believe she wasn’t involved.
“You really going to bust my chops over this, Frankie? She’s new in town. I’ve showed her around a bit.”
The way his eyes plead with me makes me drop the subject. Dad doesn’t ask for much, plus I’m not sure how I feel about this. It feels more serious than he’s letting on. I mean, I want him to be happy and all, but it’s a big change.
“Send me those files.” I shouldn’t be bribing my dad, but I’ve been trained by the MBI, so manipulating a conversation to get what I want isn’t even a conscious thought when it involves work. I feel kind of shitty after saying it though, since this isn’t just work. “Never mind, send them in the morning,” I add before he can respond.
Dad closes my door, and I pretend like it’s important to find my keys so I have a reason not to look at his face. The Charger stutters to life, and I do a quick check to make sure Dad’s stepped back before pulling away from the curb. The drive to Mickey’s is uneventful, since I don’t see anyone I know, so I consider it a win.
The porch light is still on when I turn into the driveway to park behind the old boarding house. There’s only one other car—a shiny new black SUV. Either Mickey is moving up in the world, or she has another guest.
The gravel crunches under my shoes as I make my way to the back of my car. I open my trunk to get my overnight bag and laptop, and when I slam the lid down, a dog barks in the distance. It’s so quiet. It took me forever to get used to how loud everything is in the city, and I almost forgot what the absence of noise sounds like. I didn’t realize how much I missed this.
The steps moan and creak under my weight when I head to the backdoor. I rap lightly but open the screen right after. The knob turns freely, and I say a little silent thank you to Mickey for not locking me out.
The thick reek of cigarettes hits me as soon as I pull the door open. I scrunch up my lips to cover my nostrils for a second to try to adjust to the stench. As if theeau de decaywasn’t enough, now I can smell like an ashtray too.
I set my bags on the ground of the small mudroom and brush my feet on the rug. The place may stink, but I know it will be as clean as a whistle. If you ask Mickey—a lifetime smoker—she would insist she can’t smell a thing.
There’s a light on in the kitchen, so I make my way over, hoping I didn’t keep her awake. Just as I suspected, I could eat off the floor, but the room is empty. I hear a noise near the front room by the main staircase, so I change course. A door opens right as I’m about to pass, and I nearly piss myself.
Mickey gives me a suspicious glare. Even at her age, she’s imposing. She has a good four inches on me and a short cap of stylish gray hair that offsets her dark eyes. I haven’t seen her in years, but she doesn’t look like she’s aged a day.
“Cutting it close, ain’t ya?” She slams the door of the room she just exited and looks me over with a scrutinizing gaze.
“It’s not midnight.” I know being defensive isn’t going to help, but wilting like a flower would be worse. Mickey squints her eyes even more. After a long standoff, she produces a key from who the hell knows where and shoves her palm at me.
“Same room. I’m about to go to bed, so I suggest you keep it down.” I almost remind her she’s the one going around slamming doors, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. “You remember the rules?” She arches one thin dark brow.
How could I forget? I spent my summers and some evenings at Mickey’s when I was a kid. Even though she’s almost a damn recluse, Dad always trusted her, which is how she became my babysitter. When I got older, I would come over and help her with yard work, but she never needed me. Her old lady crap is an act. “Doors are locked at midnight, no spells in the house,” I say, repeating the words she would needlessly tell me pretty much every day. Dad always tried his best to pick me up before she locked up, but there were nights I had to stay. The rules even applied to him, so I know she won’t bend them for me.
Mickey nods once, and the skin under her chin quivers. “Remember to keep it down. Just because I won’t let anyone in after the witching hour doesn’t mean I won’t kick your narrow behind out.” With those last parting words, she disappears behind the door she came from, dismissing me.
“My behind is not narrow,” I grumble under my breath after retrieving my bags from the mudroom and heading up the staircase.
“I beg to differ,” remarks a deep voice I would know anywhere, no matter how long it’s been since I’d heard it.
Chapter 3
I’d agree with you, but then we’d all be wrong.
Ifreeze, one foot on the bottom step and one still on the landing. “Not all of us are blessed with an ass that needs its own backup alarm, Remy.”
“Your ass is perfect, Frankie, when you eat. When was the last time you had a decent meal?”
I lower my head. Was it too much to hope it was just Remy? That voice belonged to Felix, and if they are here, so is Gray.
I silently curse Mickey. That old broad sold me out. It shouldn’t matter that she’s Remy’s great aunt. Isn’t there any loyalty among women? I fricking paid her! That should count for something.
I set my bags on the step and turn to face the three guys I was trying my damnedest to avoid. I have to pretend not to be affected, but holy hell, I almost swallow my tongue. When I left, I couldn’t really call the guys boys anymore, but they weren’t this.
Felix is on the far right. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks pissed. His rimless glasses are almost distracting enough to keep me from noticing the emerald green of his eyes, but I’ve been up close and personal too many times not to notice. He’s bulked up a lot, not surprising when your best friend spends so much time in the gym.
I look away only to see Gray in the middle. His face isn’t as readable as Felix’s, but it’s just as devastating. There’s a shadow on his rigid jaw, and I’m struck by the fact that I don’t know what it feels like against my palm or my inner thighs. He’s so damn beautiful, I’d expect to see him in movies or some fancy cologne ad, but that’s the last thing Gray would do—well, it used to be anyway. I can’t pretend to know him anymore, even though my heart remembers him, remembers them all.
