When we’re tucked in together, she puts a hand on her hip and sucks in a slow breath, as if psyching herself up for something. “I’m going to try to convince you to do something you won’t want to do.”
What else can I do but laugh?
“Is that supposed to be a novelty?”
She smiles briefly. “No. But you’ve been pretty great today. You know, after you decided not to cart your dad off and leave my mom jilted. I figure I owe you honesty.”
“So what am I going to be persuaded to do now? You want me to touch you in front of someone else?”
I probably shouldn’t have said that, but the memory of her hip under my hand, the curve fitting perfectly, spoke the words for me.
Her lips part in suspense, but a second later fire flickers in her dark eyes. “It’s probably the most action you’ve gotten in months.”
“Back to this, are we?” I ask with a smile, leaning against the pillar. “Yes, it was. Would you like a log of every time I get laid? We Peebles men pride ourselves on our spreadsheets.”
“I’m sorry. I…” She hesitates, giving the stage a sidelong look, as if she thinks the Barry Manilow-loving DJ will save her. “I’m going to ask you for another favor, and I don’t like asking for favors. It makes me prickly. But that’s my fault, not yours. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Is that an apology?” I ask, totally serious. Because I’m not sure it was one, or whether I even want one. Ilikebickering with Nora.
“It was a shitty one,” she says with a smile. “So what do you say? Will you forgive me and put me out of my misery?”
“All right. What disagreeable promise are you trying to wrest out of me?”
She glances around again, perhaps taking in the disarray caused by this wedding. Or maybe she’s searching for the nosy little old ladies, who might yet blow up this whole covert operation. Then she leans in closer, so close I can practically feel the whisper of her satin dress, and says, “I want you to help me break up José and Pansy.”
There it is again.
She’d do anything for this guy, a thought I find more disagreeable than the lies spouted by popular science YouTubers. Then again, he’s charming and good-looking and probably always knows what to say and when to say it. Heisher type.
“It’s not a good idea to interfere,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone even.
“Says the man who tried to convince his father not to marry my mother.”
“You thought that was a terrible idea. And you were probably right.” I wave at the dance floor, where our parents are still dancing, my father’s bum hip be damned. “They seem pretty enthusiastic about their decision. Aren’t José and Pansy happy together? They seem to have a lot in common.”
Namely, they’re both disagreeable—her with her perfume and high-pitched utterances, and him…
He was unspeakably rude to Nora, who obviously deserves better from her business partner, not to mention her friend.
“They havenothingin common.” She clenches her jaw. “And he has no idea how unhinged she is. She plays this dumb, innocent part whenever he’s around, but she’s not innocent.”
She looks over her shoulder, then huddles in closer, which I don’t mind at all. “When they first started dating, she sent me a string of anonymous threatening texts.”
I straighten, not liking that one bit. “Nothing’s fully anonymous.You didn’t delete them, did you? If you reported them to the police?—”
“It would have become a big thing, and there’s no guarantee they would have even done anything about it. José didn’t believe they were from her.”
“So you think the torment of having dinner with me will be enough motivation for her to suddenly confess? Or were you hoping to dose her with some homemade truth serum? Because I’m sorry to say you don’t have a high chance of success unless you have barbiturates lying around in your bathroom cupboard. Although, if you do, we should be having a different conversation.”
A smile ghosts across her face but leaves a frown in its wake. “I don’t have a plan. Or barbiturates. But if she gets comfortable around us, maybe she’ll let something slip. We can unmask her. You know, like they do on Scooby-Doo.”
“Scooby-Doo?”
“You know you watched it.”
“Real people don’t wear masks like that. Do you honestly think this can be settled over a single double date? Don’t get me wrong, it sounds like torment, but if he’s put up with her this long, I can’t see how forty-five disagreeable minutes would make a difference.”
“Is that how long most of your dates last?” she asks with a bemused expression. She leans in a little more, and her scent wafts up to me. She smells like ginger, always, ever since we were in high school, and it suits her down to the soles of her feet.
