Page 278 of Devil’s Disciples

“I can’t wait to tell George,” I blurted.

“Can we tell him together?” he asked.

As far as I was concerned, we needed to start doing everything together. Except for pooping. Pooping was an alone activity, even if I was in love.

I nodded eagerly. “When do you want to?”

He looked at his watch. “How about now?”

“What time is it?”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “He closes in fifteen minutes.”

It was twenty-five minutes away, maybe more, depending on traffic. “Guess it’s a good thing I fell in love with a getaway driver,” I said. “You want to show me how you earned that nickname, Ghost?”

102

Ghost

Despite my triple-digit high-speed run to the diner, the door was locked when we arrived. By my watch, we were a few minutes early. Abby, as excited as a kid on Christmas day, pounded on the door as if she was trying to knock it down.

“He’s in the back,” she said. “He always cleans the kitchen last.”

George peered over the ledge of the pass-through opening. After recognizing us, he shook his head and turned away. A moment later, he burst through the swinging doors and into the dining area.

With his arms swinging at his sides and his head held high, he marched to the front door and removed the keys from his pocket.

After fumbling with the lock for a moment, he pushed the door open just wide enough to fit his head in the crack. He glared at Abby. “What in the name of fuck is going on?” He shifted his eyes to me and grinned. “Evening, Porter.”

I gave a nod. “George.”

Abby tossed her hands high in the air. “We’re in love.”

He glanced at each of us and then fixed his eyes on Abby. “You two have been drooling over each other since the first day you brought him in here. I’m not dirtying up my kitchen to celebrate something that I’ve been knowing for the last month or so.”

“Stop being so grumpy,” she said. “I’m excited.”

“I’m excited, too.” He grinned a cheesy tooth-revealing grin. “See?”

She put her hands on her hips. “We saw Luke Westham at the Mission Valley Theater. He grabbed my arm and called Porter an asshole. Porter knocked him out cold.”

He looked at me and arched one of his oversized eyebrows. “The creepy running back for the Chargers?”

“That’s the one,” I said.

“I’d planned on kicking that dip-shit’s ass myself, but he never cashed in the free lunch vouchers I sent him on Facebook.” He pushed the door open. “Well, hell’s bells, get your asses in here. That’s cause for celebration.”

Abby walked past him and turned around. “You sent him lunch vouchers?”

“Four or five times after that last series of emails he sent you. Told him he was a random winner. Offered all you can eat pancakes and ham for free. Son-of-a-bitch never showed up. Figured Lawson and I would tune him up if he did.”

I laughed. “Which one’s Lawson?”

“Tall kid with the scar on his face.”

That would have been a fight worth seeing. Lawson was at least six-feet-six, and weighed two fifty, easily. His hands came to rest right beside his knees, which would have given him a six-inch reach on the football player.

I chuckled. “You could have sold tickets to that fight.”