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As he waited, he looked around at the loft-style apartment. It had a huge skylight, lots of colorful pillows on the blood-red leather sectional, and framed movie posters of avant-garde films that probably had subtitles.
What was it about tattoos and subtitles that so often went together? “I’ll just make myself at home here—”
“No you won’t.” She cocked her thumb and pointed her index finger at him. “You’ll stay right there, and you won’t touch anything.”
Then she stomped out of the room.
As soon as she was gone, he shuffled all of the pillows on the sofa, sat, and propped his feet up on the chrome-and-glass coffee table just to piss her off. He might fear for his life, but he took orders from no one.
His cell buzzed with a new call, and hoping it was Lyric, he pulled it out of his back jeans pocket. But it was Barry again. He knew he couldn’t keep dodging the team owner’s calls, but he wasn’t ready to talk about the future. He needed to settle things with Lyric—only one major life change at a time.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket. And that was when he realized that right next to his left foot sat Harmony’s phone. He couldn’t help himself. He picked it up.
Curious, he pulled up her music playlists. He couldn’t quite make out the artist so he zoomed in on an album cover. Cannibal Corpse? Who the hell was Cannibal Corpse? And why the hell were they on Harmony’s phone?
Intrigued now, he pulled up her web browser and typed in the name. According to Wikipedia, they were an American death metal band from Buffalo, New York.
Death metal?
“What the hell are you doing?” Harmony walked in wearing a pink soccer-mom sweater set, black slacks, and a pearl choker. “Give me that.”
She snatched the phone right out of his hands.
“You dress like a Sunday school teacher but listen to death metal?” Was she suffering from schizophrenia? Was there some way he could help her? The last thing he wanted was for Lyric to suffer if her sister lost her mind. “I thought death metal was just something people bragged about listening to but didn’t actually listen to.”
“My life is none of your business.” She deposited the phone in the front pocket of a very classy but sedate black leather purse.
Had he imagined all of that ink? “Were your tatts temporaries?”
“Did they look like temporaries?” It was a wonder she could stand upright with that huge chip on her shoulder.
Would the real Harmony please stand up? At this point he didn’t have a clue. Was she a gun-toting badass or the PTA president? Or both?
“Why cover them up then?” The answer dawned on him. “Oh my God, your parents don’t know.” He grinned. This was leverage, no bones about it.
“Are we leaving or what?” Harmony held the door open.
“Okay, okay … I’m going.” He stood. “I’m gonna tell your parents,” he sing-songed.
“Careful, I’m still armed.” Her voice was even.
“Where?” Her clothes weren’t tight, but they certainly weren’t loose enough to hide a gun … or guns.
She slapped him on the back of the head. “Stop undressing me w
ith your eyes.”
“Yuck.” He swallowed hard. “I just threw up a little in my mouth.” He swallowed some more. “Do you have a Tic Tac or something? Coffee is terrible the second time around.”
It really was amazing what twelve years could change.
“No.” She shoved her arm through the strap on her purse and hooked it around her shoulder.
“So,” he said as they headed down to Cherry Cherry, “now that I’m about to be your big brother, do you have any boyfriends you need me to beat up?” There was no denying that he had a lot of free time now.
“No, I’d hate for you to get hurt. They’re so much tougher than you.” Harm grinned. “God knows, we don’t want another crying episode.”
“I was ten years old and you kicked me in the balls.” Knowing Harmony as he did, he really should have worn a cup.
