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He leaves, hitting the elevator button, and I head back inside.
I see the tail end of Aspyn disappearing around the door… Was she eavesdropping?
I secure the latch on the foyer door and put the alarm on.
When I say this place is like Fort Knox, I’m not even kidding.
I saunter toward the bags of food on the counter. I try not to eat a lot of junk food, preferring to pick food up from the Whiskey Bar and Grill, the restaurant the club owns on Bourbon Street. They make good food and it’s reasonably priced for that neck of the woods.
I open the bags.
Aspyn wanted dumplings and noodles, so I opted for the meat version and extra fried rice. Not all of us are like Manny or Harlem who both cook well. Word got out after he dated Indigo that Harlem’s a whizz in the kitchen. I guess having to bring up two kids on your own meant that he had no choice.
Cooking just isn’t one of the things I take an interest in. And neither does Aspyn, so that’s going to be interesting.
“Hungry?” I call out.
A few moments later, she appears. The cat nowhere in sight.
I tried making friends, but he ran away to hide under the bed. I feel sorry for animals that move to a new space. It must be weird for them to get used to.
As she plonks at the other side of the island bench, I glance up.
Is she expecting me to serve her? I almost laugh at the idea, but I guess handing her a take-out box isn’t completely beyond me.
“Chopsticks?” I say, holding a pair out to her, which she takes.
“Smells good.”
I slide her two boxes across to her and admit that it does smell amazing, but maybe that’s just because I’m hungry.
“Gotta ask,” I say, undoing the lid to my rice. “Were you listenin’ to my conversation with Cash?”
She frowns, her eyes purposely avoiding me. So she was.
The little minx.
“No,” she lies. “I was trying to stop Pirate from escaping.” And inadvertently listened in at the door.
“Huh.” I tuck into my food with a plastic spoon. There is cutlery in the drawer, but I’m not one for washing dishes, either.
“So… Cash seems cool,” she says.
I watch her eating daintily. She doesn’t dig into her food like a maniac, like most people do. She takes her time, probably chewing twenty-six times or whatever that stupid rule is for good digestion. Again, I remind myself how very different our upbringings were.
“Yes, he is.”
“And you all have businesses, right?”
“Yep.”
She pats the stool next to her. “You can sit down, you know. I don’t bite.”
I stare at her for a fraction too long, my eyes dipping to her lips. She’s gonna be the death of me.
“I’m good.”
Her bottom lip almost juts out at my rebuttal. The words from Cash ringing in my ears. I may have lied about her not being my type, but I still need to wipe this fog from my brain where she’s concerned.
