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“Um-hmm. That’s why you have something like three girls for every day of the week, a party in every city you go to. Shamal, I’m not an idiot. I woke up and smelled the coffee. I wanted to be special to you, but I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” he insisted. He examined the beer bottle again, a flush darkening his face. “More special than you know,” he mumbled. “I don’t want to lose you. What do I have to do?”
“Lose all the other girls,” she said promptly. “If you can’t be faithful, I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, I know.” He managed a faint grin. “I read the List. Parts of it I can’t manage.”
She smiled. “Parts of it were a joke. The first five items weren’t.”
“So if I … lose the other girlfriends, you’ll come back?”
She thought about it, thought about it for so long that he began to sweat, even in the air-conditioned apartment. She had already written him off in her mind, she realized, even if her heart hadn’t quite been convinced. Turning things back around would take some effort.
“I’ll give it a try,” she finally said, and he collapsed back on the couch with a “whoosh” of relief. She held up a slender hand. “But—if you’re unfaithful at all, that means even just groping a girl at a party the way I’ve seen you do, then I’m history. No second chances, because you’ve already used them all up.”
“I swear,” he said, holding up his right hand. “No more fucking around.”
“Screwing,” she said.
“What?”
“Screwing around.”
“That’s what I said. Same thing.”
“No, your language could use a little cleaning up. That’s what I meant.”
“Babe, I’m a football player. We swear.”
“That’s fine, when you’re on a field, but you aren’t on a field now.”
“Man,” he complained, but good-naturedly. “Already you’re trying to change me.”
She shrugged in a take-it-or-leave-it manner. “My dad can peel your skin off when he’s swearing, but he watches his language around Mom because she doesn’t like it. I don’t care for it either. My friend Jaine is trying to stop swearing and has done a really good job. If she can do it, anyone can.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll try.” Suddenly he grinned. “Hey, this is kind of homey, isn’t it? Domesticated. You ragging on me, and me promising to do better. Like a couple.”
Luna laughed, and went into his arms. “Yes,” she said. “Just like a couple.”
twenty-five
Bleary-eyed at dawn on Saturday morning, Sam yawned and sat up on Luna’s couch. Around midnight the women had decided he could watch the apartment just as well from inside as he could outside, and insisted he come in. He was tired, so he did. He hadn’t had much sleep for two days and nights—he would have gotten more if there hadn’t been a certain smart-ass lying under him, insisting on wiggling her pretty butt—and was disgusted after a day chasing leads that turned out to be nothing on another case he was working, plus not getting anywhere on the files from Hammerstead. The computers hadn’t turned up anything so far on the names they had run, except for the odd unpaid ticket and a few domestic disturbances.
By midnight, fueled by beer and chocolate, the four women were still going strong. Cheryl turned out to be a toned-down version of Marci, similar in looks and voice and with the same boisterous sense of humor. They had talked until they were hoarse, laughed and cried, drunk beer and eaten everything they could get their hands on. It had been an amazing sight.
They moved the wake into the kitchen, and he stretched out on the couch. He had slept, but with one ear attuned to the noise from the kitchen. Nothing alarming had happened, except he discovered that Jaine sang a lot when she was tipsy.
When he woke, he noticed immediately that the noise had died down. In fact, it was downright quiet. Quietly he opened the kitchen door and peeked in. They were all asleep, breathing with the heaviness of fatigue and alcohol. T.J. was snoring slightly, a delicate sound that didn’t qualify as a full-fledged snore. Having grown up in a house with four brothers and his dad, he knew exactly how a full-fledged snore sounded.
Jaine was under the table. Literally. She was curled up with her head pillowed on her folded hands, looking like an angel. He snorted; that was a real con. She had probably practiced sleeping like that since she was a little kid.
Luna rested her head on her folded arms, like a child in grammar school. She was a sweet kid, he thought, though she had to have some grit to her to hold her own with the others. Cheryl’s head was on the table, too, but she was using a pot holder as a pillow—a flat one. With enough beer inside you, a lot of things made sense that normally wouldn’t.
He searched for and found the coffee and filters and put on a pot of coffee, not making any attempt to be quiet. They continued to sleep. When the coffee was ready, he hunted through the cabinets for the coffee cups, and got down five of them. He poured four of them only half full, in case there were some shaky hands, but his he filled to the rim. Then he said, “Okay, ladies, time to wake up.”
He might as well have been talking to the wall for all the effect his announcement had.
“Ladies!” he sounded, more loudly.
