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“Never seen it.”
“90210?”
“Nope.”
“Gilmore Girls?”
“Negative.”
“Charmed?”
“Reagan.” I sat back on the sofa and popped the cap on my water. “What makes you think I’ve watched any of those teeny-bopper shows?”
“I’d hardly call them teeny-bopper shows. They’re not the original version of Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”
“I had to watch that because of my cousin. Salem is the best character in that show.”
“Ha!” She laughed again. “Pretty sure I wanted to be Salem when I grew up. I asked for him once at Christmas, but I don’t think I thought through having a sassy, talking cat.”
“Mm,” I said. “There’s also that little snag where cats can’t actually talk.”
She paused. “All right, so that’s an issue. No need to shatter my dreams.”
“From the girl who shattered my favorite TV show.”
“If How I Met Your Mother is your favorite show, you need to get out more.”
“I’m sorry, didn’t you just reel off a TV guide’s worth of shows you’ve watched that I haven’t?”
“I think this conversation is done.”
Laughing, I put my bottle on the table and gave Poosh a scratch before sitting back. “That’s it? I win, so you’re done with this conversation?”
“You’re not familiar with women, are you?”
“Relatively familiar. I spent some of my day with one. Unless you’re hiding something.”
“What would I be hiding, huh? You rescued me when I was wearing nothing but a thin tank top and old panties.”
She was indeed right, not that I’d paid much attention. “I didn’t really look at you. It might be a shock to you, but I was too busy—”
“Saving my life, yeah, yeah. I hear ya, Superman. You’re a real-life superhero.”
Anyone else, that snark would have ended the call. But with Reagan? I could hear the laughter she was fighting to keep inside.
“I would have worn my cape but it was in the wash,” I replied. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“It’s okay. I suppose being alive is enough. Although you should make sure to keep the cape on you.”
“It’s a fire hazard, don’t you think?” I changed the TV channel. “One too many fancy whips Superman-style and I’m the one on fire.”
“Huh.” She paused for a moment and her breathing crackled down the line. “That would defeat the object of wearing one.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?”
She sighed. “Never mind. It was a nice fantasy while I had it.”
“You’re fantasizing about me in a cape?”
“Not specifically. And it’s not a fantasy.”
“You just said it was.”
“Oh, my God. Just because I said it doesn’t mean I meant it.”
“Are you in the habit of saying things you don’t mean?”
“I’m a hot-tempered woman with a family of insane relatives, a best friend who feeds raccoons, a big brother who pisses me off daily, and another best friend who is a chronic on-off dater. What do you think?”
I bit back a laugh. “I think I’ve learned more about you in the last five seconds than I have since I first texted you.”
Reagan didn’t bother to hide her laugh. “That’s because you have. That’s the most any stranger knows about me.”
“I don’t think you can call me a stranger anymore. I know way more about your TV preferences than I ever wanted to know. Plus, you shattered my dreams. You can’t shatter a stranger’s dreams.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never seen me be hit on in a bar. Dreams get shattered all over the place.”
“You’re a fucking delight, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing.”
That was one laugh I couldn’t hide.
“Anyway,” she said, clearly bringing the conversation to a close as some kind of knocking sound came from her end of the line. “Thank you for the late chat. It was fun, but there’s a crazy old lady banging on my door and demanding I adhere to a curfew I haven’t followed since I was seventeen.”
That explained the banging. “You’re welcome. Thanks for giving me more company than my weirdo dog.”
“Watch it. If I ever meet that dog and you’re being unnecessarily mean, I’ll steal her.”
“I’ll give her to you,” I replied dryly. “Night, Reagan.”
“Night, Superman.”
I opened my mouth to demand she never call me that again, but her giggle right before the line cut off distracted me just long enough.
Now, the line was dead.
I could text her, but I knew she wouldn’t listen.
Damn it.
Poosh knocked into my ankle and yipped.
“Bedtime. C’mon, Poosh.”
***
“Will you get your fucking nose out of your phone?” Joel, our chief, whacked Liam around the back of the head.
“Tell that to my mother.” Liam cricked his neck. “My sister is in labor and she’s texting me every single thing.”
I winced.
“Well, don’t tell us,” Joel demanded. “That’s too graphic for this early in the morning.”
He wasn’t wrong. It was only just getting light out.
Liam shot him a dark look and glanced at me. “Why aren’t you telling Noah to get his nose out of his phone? It’s been there all week.”
“What are you, five?” Joel rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard. “He’s new. He’s probably making friends, right, Noah?”
