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He would have asked, but Taran was talking to someone who clearly wasn’t him because she just said, “kill the big one first.”
He walked into the family room he’d been in only hours ago, and there stood Taran with a PS4 remote in her hand, staring at the screen and talking into a headset. Above the fireplace mantel hung a television that had looked like a mirror this morning. Corey chuckled. Diablo. He didn’t know many women who played. Especially ones who stood in princess living rooms and dressed like teenagers.
Taran’s cut-off jean shorts and oversized hoodie hid the body he’d gotten a peek at this morning. He couldn’t see much now except a pair of short legs that ended in tiny black Converse sneakers. She looked about fifteen today, which aged her five years from yesterday, when he thought she was a ten-year-old boy.
He shook his head. He couldn’t peg this woman. “What level are you?”
“Seventy paragon two,” she answered without looking.
Huh, impressive. Seventy was a max level. It meant he could find her online and play with her. A quick glance at her screen name, T-cup2009, and he committed it to his memory for future reference. He liked to play with people all the time, especially when they had no idea it was him. Then he watched quietly until she got to the checkpoint and told the people on the other end of her headset she had to go. Her character ported to town, and she finally turned.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He had no idea who she was expecting, and the pay by the hour thing added another level of confusion. The only people he could think that someone might let in and pay by the hour were hookers.
“I’m your ride. Who were you expecting?”
“God damn it to all hell,” she said to no one and then turned those fired-up sex eyes to him. “Never trust a lawyer.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Corey asked.
“That you’re my ride.” She said it like it was clear, but he still didn’t get it. She ignored his obvious confusion, simply crossing her arms over her chest. “Have you ever been to one of Erin’s dinners?”
“Who?” he asked before remembering his agent’s wife’s name.
“Never mind.” She dismissed the conversation with a wave of her hand.
Corey glanced down and smirked as he read her hoodie. “‘Just pretend I’m not here. That’s what I’m doing.’ Antisocial?”
She nodded, and the black knot of hair bounced on her head. “I’ve heard that about you, yes.”
He scoffed, but she just left the room.
Corey assumed she’d be back eventually and flopped into one of those stupid, uncomfortable chairs while he waited. She must have gone to change because she didn’t look dressed to go out. His gaze wandered back to the image of T-cup2009, a wizard wearing some nice gear. He didn’t have the time for hard core games, but Diablo was the perfect alternative for him because he liked the role play fantasy. His character was a demon hunter, which would work nicely with a wizard. The screen name was a curious choice though; maybe she collected cups or something.
He chuckled.
“What?” Taran demanded, having reappeared in the room.
“What’s that?” Corey asked, tipping his chin toward the large pan in her hands. She hadn’t spent the last five minutes changing. She was still wearing the same crappy outfit, but she’d retrieved the dish containing the smell that he’d just about die to eat.
“Dinner. Do you have manners? Maybe you want to be a gentleman and grab it for me. It’s thirty pounds of meat,” she said as she struggled along.
“It weighs, what, ten pounds more than you?” Corey stood up. Not many people questioned his manners.
“Yeah, being four-eleven, I’ve never heard the I’m small jokes before. If you call me a midget, I swear to God, I will punch you.” Her eyes flashed, daring him. Normally he wouldn’t call someone a midget because he didn’t want to disrespect anyone, but the way she said it made it a challenge. And one he couldn’t ignore.
She didn’t look impressed, even after he grabbed the chafing dish from her.
“What is this?’ He sniffed, and this time the question sounded more like a plea leaving his lips.
“My family’s famous brisket—beef barbeque brisket,” she answered, and his mouth watered. “Put it in the car and don’t spill it—everyone will be pissed if there is no food.”
“Spill?” His eyes narrowed. “Is this shit going to spill in my truck?”
She shot him a withering look. “Are you really one of those guys?”
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
