“Just buried? Chile, that was like three years ago. That dick probably gets hard when the wind blows too hard at this point.”
I had to laugh. “I’m not thinking about his . . . parts. I just know that he’s still working through her death. The last thing he would ever need is to try to start hunching on a basket case like me.”
“Why are you calling my favorite future sister-in-law a basket case?” She pulled me into a hug. “You’re not a basket case. You had to hide in a supply closet while some fucking YN gang bangers shot up your hospital. Twenty-seven people were shot. Eight people died. You saw those bodies. You saw that . . . hell, killing field. You have trauma. That’s normal. Anybody would have trauma.”
“Yeah.” I agreed half-heartedly. She thought that Bishop should be past his dead wife in three years, but she thought it was okay for me to still be traumatized after two years.
When she spoke again, she changed the subject. “What’re you going over to his house for?”
“I told him I would tape off the bedroom he’s letting me stay in. You know, so he can paint it.”
“He’s painting the guest room for you?”
“Not for me,” I said, even though it was kind of for me. “His whole house is beige, and I can’t live in all that beige.”
“So, he’s painting it for you,” she reiterated. “Mark my words, you’re gonna be fucking this man before the end of the first month.”
“Shut up. Just because you and my brother are some freaky freaks that can’t keep your hands . . . and other parts off each other, doesn’t mean that everybody’s like that.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever.” She waved me off. “But I want you to write down that I said it. And when you come to me telling me how good the dick is, just know that I’m the one who spoke it into existence for you. You’re welcome.”
I wished I could sincerely laugh her off, but I couldn’t. The truth was that I had a crush on Quentin when I was younger. Not the kind of crush where I hoped it would one day morph into something real. It was the kind of crush where you knew nothing would ever happen but dreaming that it might felt betterthan good. So, you let yourself dream. “Whatever.” I dismissively waved her off.
“So, you don’t think he’s fine?”
I thought he was gorgeous. Flawless mocha-brown skin. Dark, expressive eyes covered by thick eyebrows. His cheekbones were high, his mouth was kinda small, but his lips were full. He had dimples in his cheeks, and his neck was tatted. His nose was perfect, as was his beard. With a broad chest and strong arms, he always, always smelled good enough to eat. “I don’t look at him that way,” I lied.
Asia eyed me momentarily, but eventually, she let me make it. When she spoke again, she changed the subject. “What color are you going with for the bedroom you’re not gonna be sleeping in?”
“Stop!” I commanded her. “Stop saying that. I haven’t really thought about it. But the room overlooks the lake, so maybe something you would see in nature. Maybe a blue or a green.”
She nodded her head. “Okay, now I see where I come in. God sent me to help you choose the right color. Let’s go to the paint store and look at some samples.”
My feelings about going shopping must’ve shown on my face.
“East.” She whined my name. “You can’t pick out colors from a website. You have to see them in person. We can go to Right Ready Hardware Store when they open. I’m sure there won’t be a lot of people there that time of morning. They hardly ever have a huge crowd.”
“Okay,” I agreed with a sigh.
I was still at his house when Quentin got back from riding with the brothers late that night. I was sure he saw my truck in his driveway, but I still called out to him as soon as the alarm on the door chimed.
“Damn,” he dragged out as he quickly moved from the foyer through the great room and into the kitchen. “You got it smelling good as hell in here. What you cooking?”
I couldn’t help giggling. “I wanted to show my appreciation for you letting me stay here, so I picked up some groceries. It’s pepper steak. I didn’t ask, so I hope you like it.”
“A home-cooked meal? I love it. Let me take a piss, wash my hands, and settle myself.”
“No problem,” I called as he made his way to the back of the house where his bedroom was located.
A little while later, the two of us sat across from each other with plates of pepper steak nestled on steaming beds of rice. “How was the ride?”
“It was good.” He nodded his head and took a bite of food. “There were peaceful moments where it felt good to be on my bike. Feeling the wind. Feeling the sun. When we got there, we shot the shit. Laughed. Ate. Coming home, we got rained on.” He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I got rained on, riding my bike. It was good. Glad I went.”
“I’m glad you went too.”
“What’d you do? You get the room taped off?”
I nodded. “Yeah, most of it. Asia forced me to go to the hardware store and look at paint samples. Then she went home,talking about she wanted to enjoy a quiet house for a little bit. I stayed here. I thought I would start taping, but I ended up falling asleep. When I woke up, I taped. I didn’t want the day to be a total loss.”
