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I felt my lips twitch.
Out of all the things she could be worried about, she was concerned about that?
“You’re not worried about your clothes?” I asked curiously.
She shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it’s gonna suck going to Walmart and Target and buying new underwear—I mean I had the old ones all broken in—but I think I can handle that.”
I snorted. “You bought your underwear at Walmart?”
She nodded. “Everywhere is overpriced. I mean, what’s wrong with plain ol’ cotton?”
“You’re not the least bit concerned about your house?” he asked curiously.
She shrugged. “I mean, it sucks for the homeowners, but… yeah. I’ll have to look for a new place…”
“That was owned by your father, you dumbass.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not worried that he had a house burned to the ground?”
“No,” she said. “Especially since he’s got it insured for like, twice the price that it’s worth.”
She did have a point but…
“Did they know that you weren’t in it when it burned?” I asked, suddenly pissed off.
Amelia opened her mouth and then closed it.
“My Chevelle was there,” she said softly.
It had been.
“Fuck.” She sighed. “Did someone just try to murder me?”
Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. “While you were checking out your boyfriend peeing, that’s what I’ve been trying to say!”
There was a long moment of silence, then Amelia said, “Just to be sure you understand, I was actually looking at his shoulders. Not him actually urinating or anything.”
Sam sighed. “That… I guess that’s a little better. To know that you weren’t looking at his dick while I was trying to have an intelligent conversation with you about your life.”
Amelia sighed. “Did they catch the people that did it?”
Sam nodded. “Yes. They stayed around to make sure everyone knew that they did it for Rogan.”
Amelia groaned. “Who was it?”
“Tomi DeSimone, she works with you—” Sam began, but Amelia cut him off.
“Worked,” Amelia interrupted. “She was fired today.”
“Which might explain why she thought burning your house down was okay.” Sam rolled his eyes. “And the other girl is named Target—”
“Target?” I interrupted this time. “Like her real, birth certificate name, all legal-like, is Target?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You know, you two are made for each other. Can’t take a goddamn thing seriously.”
I waved my hand away at that, trying to clear the air. “I understand that this is a big deal. But who the fuck names their kid Target?”
“Somebody that really loves it,” Sam replied with exasperation. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”
My lips twitched. We really were pissing him off.
But Target?
What was next? Someone naming their kid Walmart?
“What’s next? Someone named Walmart?” Amelia snickered, pulling her phone out of her pants.
No, correction, my pants.
Oh, and it was like we were sharing a mind.
I loved that she had a sense of humor. Sure, the sense of humor was a bit dark, but that was to be expected seeing as someone had nearly killed her. Or, at least, had tried to.
Tomi hadn’t realized that Amelia wasn’t inside when she set it on fire.
I was thankful that Lynn had agreed to get someone to take Amelia’s car home last night, but now I’m thinking that her Chevelle wouldn’t have gotten torched if I had left her beater car at the club.
I hadn’t wanted to leave it there overnight, and she’d been knocked the hell out when we’d driven home.
Though, maybe if the car hadn’t been there, they might not have set the place on fire.
“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?” Sam asked.
Amelia sat on the edge of the couch, and her shirt pulled tight, revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
I tried to pull my eyes away, but her boobs to me were like a moth to a flame.
And her nipples were fucking hard.
How was a man to pay attention to another man talking when Amelia’s nipples were hard?
“Adam.”
I blinked, surprised that my name had been called.
I’d been so focused after all.
“What?” I asked, unsure which of them had even called my name at this point.
“Are you okay?” Amelia asked.
I rubbed my hand over my face. “I’m fucking tired. I’ve had like, seven hours of sleep over the last four days, my stomach is growling, I can’t really tell whether I should eat or not yet because I don’t want to puke it up, and to top it all off, my girl almost got murdered last night. I don’t think I’m anywhere near okay.”
“Your girl?” Sam asked.
I looked to Amelia again, somehow managing to keep my eyes off her nipples, and studied her face.
She was wearing my second favorite t-shirt.
It was a Metallica shirt that I’d gotten when I was younger. When I’d seen my first live band.
I’d hated the band—sorry but I wasn’t into screaming as music—but I’d loved the experience.
And that shirt.
But the idea of Amelia taking that one, too? It didn’t bother me.
