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Then, just like that, Luis casually let go of Krissy's foot, and she hung it back over the chair, both of them turning back to me with amused smiles, all the sexual tension gone.
How they both managed to turn it on and off like that was beyond me.
Then again, mine hadn't been turned on in a woefully long time. So I was clearly no expert in the situation.
"So, what are we having? Sushi?" Luis asked. "My treat."
"We can get sake drunk and have a sleepover," Krissy joined in on his plan.
"Sounds like what I need," I admitted, even if I was inwardly wondering what it might mean if I missed a night.
In the end, I pushed the thoughts away, trying to remind myself that it was healthy to miss a few nights here and there. It was necessary. To still have a life. See friends and family. I would need connections when all this was finally over. It would help the transition into a life not riddled by thoughts of Michael.Cue about ten hours later, all three of us crammed in the back of an Uber, Krissy draped over Luis to make room for me because I'd just maybe told her to stop freaking breathing on me because I was sweating to death.
Alcohol made me hot and fuzzy, my brain the kind of unfocused that made me mildly uncomfortable. Enough so that I refused to drink to excess unless I was around really trusted people.
I wouldn't have been so grumpy if my back window wasn't broken, so I could roll it down for some air.
In the end, I reached for my phone for a distraction, thinking I would bring up a word game or solitaire or mahjong to distract me.
My traitorous fingers, though, they had a mind of their own, dragging up my contents, scrolling to the Ns.
Finding his number.
Then, well, my brain decided to join in on the idea.
- Can I be me?
The answer was nearly immediate.
-- What are you talking about?
- When I meet your family. Can I be me? Or am I going to be someone you've concocted? Alison who teaches preschool. Or Nora who is a mobile dog groomer?
-- You can be you. Just leave out the shit about being a client. King and Atlas will know, but I'd like to hold that information off as long as possible.
- I can do that. Is there anything else about your family that I should know?
-- Scotti, my sister, married into the Mallick family. They own the bar Chaz's in town. But that isn't how they make their money. They don't usually volunteer their personal information to strangers, but the truth might come up.
- And that truth is?
-- Charlie Mallick is a loanshark. Three of his sons work in the family business as enforcers.
- You're serious?
I couldn't wrap my head around the idea. An actual family of loansharks. I mean, I wasn't naive. I had been living in Navesink Bank for a while now. I understood that there was a bit more crime than you might expect from the otherwise very normal-looking area full of single-family homes and quaint mom-and-pop stores. There were The Henchmen with their guns and Hailstorm which, well, I didn't know what they did, but they had armed guards. Then I knew of Quinton Baird and his team of fixers. Fixers were something a lot of people in my parents' circle of friends used, and from what I heard, Quinton Baird was one of the best. And his people, well, they didn't always do things that were completely legal either.
But it was hard to imagine sitting down to Sunday dinner with a loanshark family.
-- Most of us have a very checkered past, Reagan. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can revisit the idea of you not coming, and me making a call to Michael about his stalker's identity.
- No.
No. God no. I couldn't let that happen.
"Who are you texting?" Luis asked, fingers casually stroking through Krissy's hair as her head leaned on his chest.
"No one. Nothing. Work stuff."
I should have known better.
Really, with these two.
But I was slow and a little fuzzy.
Krissy and Luis, however, were much more frequent drinkers, and were much faster with their reflexes.
Krissy folded up, snatching the phone from my hands, as Luis snagged my hand so I couldn't snatch it back.
- Hello. Is this Hottie Mc Advertisement Guy?
Krissy talked aloud as she typed.
"No. Stop. Please." I protested futilely.
"Oh, he's fast. Well," she said, typing again. "I just want to tell you that our beautiful Reagan here is sake drunk and in desperate need of a lay."
"Oh my God. You did not just say that to him," I shrieked, desperately trying to yank out of my brother's grip.
"He knows it was me," she said, sounding victorious for having left an impression. As if it was possible for her ever not to do so. "He said to make sure we get some water in you when we get home. Aw. That's sweet," she said, giving my phone a bit of a bleary-eyed smile. "She's not a fun drunk in public, Mr. Hottie. But when you get her home so she can strip, she's a blast."
