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With his own hips against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, I studied him.
His eyes were studying the little girl across the room, but that by no means meant he was missing any of the conversation that was going on around him.
Slate said something, and Bayou’s mouth twitched as he responded.
Absently, his hand went down to his front—between his legs—and he readjusted himself.
My mom came back on the line and started to talk, but my brain had short-circuited.
Why?
Because Bayou had no baton on his tool belt. In fact, he didn’t have his utility belt on at all.
Holy. Shit.Chapter 10I don’t feel like I’m getting older. It’s more like my warranty is about to expire.
-Coffee Cup
Phoebe
I was staring around my living room with awe.
I had a place of my own. I could afford it. There was room for my shit and I still had room to spare. Oh, and I didn’t have a neighbor that was close enough for me to hear them fart.
Score!
The last person had just left, and the only souls left were me and my animals.
I looked over at Mr. Miyagi, my Siamese cat that liked to sleep on my face. “Well, what do you think?”
He flicked his tail and didn’t answer.
I hadn’t seen my other cat, Karate Kid, since we’d let him out of his carrier earlier in the day.
I had a feeling he was probably underneath my bed and wouldn’t come out for a few hours yet.
Taking a step in the direction of my bedroom, I thought that maybe now would be a good time to change, but there was a knock at my door.
Thinking it was my sister, or possibly my father, I walked to it and yanked it open only to be stunned speechless to see who it actually was.
“Come over and eat with us,” Bayou said without waiting for me to say anything. “I’m having a talk with the boys, and a few of the ladies came to join. Plus, your sister’s over there with the babies, and she’s making me uncomfortable after what I read today.”
I started to giggle. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was,” he disagreed. “And, just sayin’, Isa’s uncomfortable as hell. And you’re good with her.”
I looked over at the little girl that was in his arms.
She was staring at me with eyes the same color as her daddy’s.
They also looked tired, as if she was seconds away from falling asleep.
My heart melted.
“Sure,” I said softly. “I just have to go change.”
His eyes took in what I was wearing. A slow perusal from the top of my head—where my hair was piled into a messy bun—to the tips of my toes—toes that were painted a hot pink with silver glitter.
“What’s wrong with what you have on?” he asked.
He sounded genuinely curious, as if he really did see nothing wrong with what I was wearing.
I looked down at my tight jean shorts and cut-up tank top that I’d made when I was fifteen.
“Nothing,” I admitted. “But if you’re having a party, I don’t want to look like the oddball.”
His eyes went warm. “Trust me, honey. You’re not the oddest duck in the pond, that’s for sure.”
I felt my heart swell.
But I wasn’t going over there in sweaty underwear for the next couple of hours.
“I’m changing,” I told him. “But not because I’m self-conscious or anything, but because I’m sweaty as hell.” I paused. “I’d really like to take a shower first.”
His eyes took me in for a few long seconds, and then he nodded once. “Okay. I’ll stay here until you’re ready.”
“I can walk in the dark,” I told him. “It’s only three houses down from yours.”
He looked at me but didn’t answer. “Fine, whatever. Just don’t be mean to my cat. He’s an asshole and not very friendly.”
Bayou closed the door behind him. “Go take your shower. I’m hungry.”
I looked at him where he was standing in my—his—front foyer and nodded. “I’ll be twenty minutes, tops.”
Bayou bent down and placed Isa on her feet. Isa, comfortable in who she was, walked confidently over to the couch as if she’d done it in my place a thousand times, and took a seat on the loveseat. There, she leaned back on the couch and got comfortable.
“She’s like an adult trapped inside a child’s body,” I muttered.
Bayou snorted. “She’s a sweetheart, but I don’t think kids are supposed to act like her.”
I heard the underlying words of panic in his voice as he’d said that. He was scared because he thought she was like him.
And, she might very well be. But, she also might be acting the way she was acting because her mother had traumatized her. We just didn’t know.
Only time would tell.
Bayou locked the door.
“Is the back door locked?” he questioned.
I nodded. “It is. I was on my way to change my clothes before you got here.”
