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“It’s tenuous,” I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I love you.”
“Love you too, honey. Call me when you get home.”
“I will.” With a wave, I made my way out to the elevator and down to the main floor, where I said goodnight to the woman at the desk. My phone buzzed again with another text from my sister.
Kennedy
There’s a group of college girls that won’t leave them alone.
On my walk to my car, a grainy photo appeared. It was of Dean and a group of men, a few of them I recognized from the night we saw his band play. He had his head tipped back in laughter, his arm around one of the guys, a drink in the other hand. They appeared out of place in their button-downs at the cheap bar, like they’d come from a nice dinner. It was also impossible to miss the young girls next to them.
By the time I started my car, Kennedy had sent yet another photo. This one of a girl with her head on Dean’s shoulder, her hand on his chest. His head was cocked back at a funny angle, like he was trying to get away from her.
Why are you sending me these?
Kennedy
Isn’t this right up your alley? More ammunition for your fights?
I didn’t respond, and I was on I-76, driving back home, when her next text popped up.
Kennedy
Maybe you guys should fuck it out of your system.
I guffawed but waited until I was off the highway to message her back.
Coming from the girl who doesn’t know what “just fucking” means.
Kennedy
We’re talking about you. Not me. That’s what you do, right?
Kennedy
So do it.
There was no way I was going to “fuck it out” with Dean. We were barely even friends now, and I wasn’t about to make it any more complicated than that. Though, if I was being honest, if he fucked as good as he fought, it would be a damn fine night with him.
But since I wasn’t going to imagine that, I poured myself a glass of wine before I sat down on the couch in the living room to watch another Lindsay Lohan classic,Mean Girls.
Absently scrolling through my phone, I pulled up my last text message to Dean from yesterday.
Did you ever follow up with the state about the Sunset filing?
Of course, he hadn’t answered, so I texted him now.
Next time I ask you a question about a case we’re working together, it would be really great if you responded.
Seconds later, he did.
Some Asshole
Jesus, Novak. It’s Saturday night. Stop working and get a life.
I have a life, and it doesn’t revolve around getting drunk with underage girls.
Some Asshole
