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“What do you want?” I clipped, hitting speaker.
“What kind of fucking way is that to answer your phone?” Leon’s husky baritone filled my bedroom.
“When it’s you, the absolute correct way. Now what do you want?”
“Not one for small talk, are you?”
“Bradshaw,” I warned.
“Fine, fine. Fuck’s sake.” There was a pause.
“Haven’t got all day,” I chirped.
“I need a favor.”
I snorted. “And you called me?”
“I’ve tried every other fucker in my contacts. My so-called friends are all either wasted or blanking my calls.”
“They’re smarter than I gave them credit for,” I muttered as I extended my fingers out in front of my face, grimacing at the chipped remnants of black polish coating my nails.
“Fuck, I wish someone else had answered,” Leon muttered.
A smirk twisted my lips as I stretched my legs the length of the bed and leaned back against the cushions. “You and me both, Pretty Boy, but here we are. You gonna quit being a giant vagina and tell me why you’re calling?”
He muttered something I couldn’t quite make out; the word vagina was in there somewhere. I could almost picture him running an agitated hand through his artfully messy hair. Eventually, he said, “I need a ride.”
I pursed my lips. “From me? What makes you think I’m not busy?”
“Are you?”
“Yeah. Very.”
“Doing what? Watching re-runs of Dawson’s Creek or some shit on Netflix?”
I scowled down at the phone because that was eerily close and screw him for making me sound predictable. “None of your business, Bradshaw. Good luck with finding a ride.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Snow Queen. I was there when you needed me the other weekend,” he pointed out, and my fingertip stilled over the end call button.
Dammit. I knew he’d never let that go. “Last I checked you have legs, Bradshaw. Why aren’t you using them?”
“My mom’s being a dick, kicked me out. I’m stranded on the side of the road with all my worldly possessions and I can’t drive because I’ve been drinking and I’m a responsible fucking human being.” When I said nothing, he continued, “Come on, Lissa, do me a solid and we can call it even. Pretty fucking please?”
I scrunched my nose and bit back a groan of frustration as my conscience nipped at me. Goddammit. At least this would get him off my back.
“Fine. Where the hell are you, and where do you need to go?”
“I’m home, well outside of it, actually, because my mother’s a major fucking over-reactor—”
“Be there in ten,” I muttered, cutting him off and rueing my decision to answer his call.
One on one time with Leon Bradshaw. What fucking fun.
***
Pulling up beside Leon’s pacing figure, I lowered the window a few inches and peered out.
“So why exactly are you loitering around outside the house, instead of in it? Your mom finally realized she should have swallowed, huh?”
