Page 42 of The Killer Card

Elias is my best friend. He’s bailed me out of jail way too many times to count. He’s never once given up on me despite my uncanny ability to provide plenty of opportunities.

A guy like that deserves the best fucking wedding speech ever written and I… Have been sitting on this fucking porch for the last two hours thumping my pen against the pad of paper I found at the little desk in the living room. Elias is out on the lake again. Cristian is dribbling a ball in the lawn below the porch- because apparently vacation still means practice for him- and Rowan took the girls into town to get the wine and shit for s’mores. We didn’t get it yesterday because he decided- and these are his words- the girls are very picky. Which I think is just a gentle way of saying they’re snobs, and I swear to God if Poppy returns with some fancy fucking Belgian chocolate for something as basic as a s’more I will throw myself into the fire pit. S’mores require shitty chocolate only. No exceptions.

Naomi drops into the rocking chair next to mine, only a little table between us where she sets down a fresh mug of coffee on my side, and then one for herself. She promptly excluded herself from going into town when her friends started listing off a dozen other things they would end up making Rowan take them to do- getting fresh flowers for the table, going to the craft beer market, going to the wine bar to buy a few bottles of what they’d enjoyed the night before- which was odd. Because those were all things the Naomi I knew used to be all about.

I guess I don’t really know her that well anymore. It’s been two years. I’m sure a lot has changed about her. Her hair for example, but I should have expected that. She changes it every few months. But thinking of all the changes makes me think of all the things that might be the same which makes my eyes follow her mug from the table to her lips, wondering what else is in her coffee.

"I fixed it,” she assures me. “No more shitty coffee.”

Wary of how she fixed it, I leave the mug where it is, but in an effort to be cordial I ask, “How’s the new job?”

Poppy told us that she’d graduated from Harvard last month and already landed a position with a law firm. I can’t imagine how she could possibly ever enjoy a job like that. Sitting in an office all day just reading legal paperwork sounds like my own personal Hell. It sounds like something she would hate too, or at least that the version of her I know would hate. Naomi has too much passion in her to be stuck in stuffy meetings all day long.

“It’s fine,” she says, crossing her long legs.

I raise a brow, looking back down at the notepad on my knee, twisting the pen between my fingers. “Just fine?”

“It’s a job,” she explains. “I’m still low on the totem pole so it’s a lot of fetching coffee and filing paperwork and making edits when needed. It’ll be years before I’m doing anything important.”

“Senator Daddy can’t help you out?”

“Contradictory to popular belief,” I can feel her glare without even having to look and it makes me smirk. “My dad doesn’t do everything for me. He worked very hard to get his position and expects Nathan and I to do the same.”

“Nathan- your brother who owns a sex club?”

“Still a self-achieved level of entrepreneurship.”

I snort out a laugh, shaking my head. “Fair, I will concede that your dad has established a very good work ethic in both of you. Even if one of you uses his powers for good while the other for evil.”

“I’m the evil one because…?”

“Lawyer,” I say, as if it’s obvious.

She nods, obviously fighting the urge to grin. “Right, I forgot you’re naturally opposed to the justice system.”

I cock my head, pursing my lips. “I would say I’m more opposed to the way it’s treated me.”

“Oh, because you didn’t steal a car, or sell drugs, or nearly beat a man to death—”

I start counting on my fingers. “Stupid teenager. Trying to survive. Defending your best friend.” Then I point all three fingers at her. “I am an otherwise upstanding citizen.”

“Sure,” she snorts and for a moment I can’t help but just smile. When she notices, her eyes narrow. “What are you smirking at?”

I shrug. “This is the longest conversation I think we’ve ever had that hasn’t devolved into a screaming match.”

Biting her lip, she shakes her head. “No, that’s false. I remember several very pleasant conversations. On very rare occasions. Usually when you wanted something.” She picks up her coffee. “That something being me.”

With a sigh, I go back to my empty notepad because there’s no argument to be had with that statement. I did tend to behave much better when I was groveling for her attention. My pen continues its relentless tap as I look out at the lake, hoping staring at my best friend will get some kind of inspirational juice flowing.

Naomi follows my line of sight with a raised brow. “Working through some pent-up feelings for your best bud..?”

Rolling my eyes, I glare at her. “No.” I hold up the notepad. “I’m trying to write my toast.”

“You haven’t written it yet—”

“Shut the absolute fuck up, you haven’t either—”

"How would you know that?!”