“A couple days,” I admit.
“Will you wear long sleeves tomorrow?”
“I will,” I say with a nod.
She shakes her head, amused. “You…surprise me.”
I like keeping her on her toes. A lot. Best I keep that thought to myself though.
We leave, and I guide her down the block, my hand resting lightly on her back as we pass couples on dates and packs of friends. At her car, I round to the driver’s side and pull the door open.
“Thanks for the phone,” I say.
“Thanks for the show,” she says, then gives me another once-over, studying me, like she’s remembering something. “You were singing at the bar the night we met. Mouthing along to something.” She gasps. “Oh! It was Journey.”
I remember that night well. “What can I say? I was in a good mood. Music just makes me…” I debate whether to sayhornyorhappy. But I choose the most truthful one. “Happy.”
With a smile that says she’s not quite sure what to make of that answer, she drops down into the seat, then looks back up at me. “Until it’s payback time.”
I don’t know if I’m terrified or excited. With her, maybe a little of both.
23
BREAK A LEG
CHLOE
A hand slides down my waist. Another coasts over my breasts. A scratch of a beard makes me gasp. I arch, murmur, breathe out.
Then moan. Long, loud. Everything feels good—hazy, heady. Music plays. A familiar song.
I roam my hands through thick hair, grabbing when…
A rattling of wood invades my dirty dreams right when I’m close—so close.
I try to hold on, to cling to the edges of this sleeping fantasy.
But the sound grows louder, more annoying. An infernal…knocking. Harmonizing with barking. Right by my ear.
I push up on my elbow, my eyes fluttering open with reluctance as I sit up in my bed. “Who the hell is knocking at…?”
I glance at the digital clock. Seven a.m. This can’t be good.
“Go see who it is,” I tell Captain, since there’s no better deterrent to a burglar than a German Shepherd. With what I swear is anod, he scampers off the bed as I grab my phone from the nightstand and turn off Do Not Disturb.
Captain whimpers in the other room, and the banging intensifies. Then a voice brays, “Darling, it’s me.”
Of course it’s my mother.
With a groan, I scan my clothes—a T-shirt and…that’s it. I throw on sweats in a flurry, shouting, “Be right there!” Then I pop into the bathroom for a quick mouthwash rinse to kill the dragon breath and head to the door still half asleep. I yank it open, and Captain spins in a circle around my mom. Her red 1966 Mustang is parked behind Roxie.
“Hello there, my sweet grandson,” she says, petting Captain as he whines happily.
Me? Less so. I stare at my mom. She’s perfectly put together, with glasses, her blown-out brown hair, and a blouse the color of rich merlot. But her wide and worried eyes expose the lie of her clothes. “Darling, you didn’t answer my texts!”
“I was asleep.”
“Still,” she says, affronted.
