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And who the fuck knows.
Maybe she had.
Maybe wearing pens behind her ear and in her hair and writing on random shit and her hands are her version of smoking or vaping or chewing gum.
Don’t know.
Don’t wanna know.
Don’t need to know.
And once she gets the fuck out of town, I really won’t need to care.
Kipp swings his stare in her direction and allows it to soften. “You can crash on our couch if you want.”
“I don’t want.” My second bite immediately resummons his glare to mine. “I don’t want a fucking houseguest, Kid.”
“Ten bucks says you’ve never even had a houseguest before.”
“You owe her ten bucks,” my best friend playfully pokes, tipping his head in Bunny’s direction.
“We didn’t bet!” The vibrating device in my hands indicates someone is now calling rather than texting which means I now have to choose between dealing with a paying customer or a potential problem that involves the creaky pullout no one has slept on since I first moved in back when Big K was still alive. “Fuckme…” Another frustrated headshake is all I deliver during my retreat to my truck. “One. Night. Kid.” Continuing to move towards my vehicle, I point a firm finger at her and assert, “You only get one night with us, Rabbit.”
And that one night?
Well, it’s already one night too many.
Chapter 6
Kipp
“Come on,” I push with my words while simultaneously pushing the shopping cart around The Grand Cannory. “Confessssssss.”
Bunny looks over at me with an unamused expression that only convinces me to keep talking.
Searching for any bit of actual truth I can get out of her.
Besides her age – thirty – and her real last name – Abernathy not Ripley – there isn’t much I know about her.
Pretty sure that’s exactly what she wants.
But it’s not what I want.
And despite the angry texts about inviting her over to have a slumber party, I know it’s not what Nolan wants either.
He wants her to talk.
So he can listen.
He’s always…listening.
Really. Listening.
It’s just one of those things he does best.
That I like best about him.
“Come on,” the gentle prodding proceeds. “It’s not like I’m asking you what color your underwear is.”
