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Chapter eleven
Ricki
“Tookyoulongenough,”Violet called when I entered the apartment. She had her back to me, bent over as she dug around in the recesses of the fridge, looking for who knew what. “I should have remembered we were out of hummus,” she continued, standing back up and shaking an empty dip container hopefully. “You know how much I like a little garlic with my—holy hamsters!” Dropping the container, Violet dashed across the small space and stood in front of me. “What the hell did you do, Ricki?”
“It was just a kiss,” I muttered, wondering how in the world she could have known what had happened.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure I knew what had happened.
One second, I’m outside my apartment, handing Javier his ass, and the next, I’m kissing Asher, a guy I’d only just met.
I wasn’t a prude or anything; it’s not like I had some rule about no kissing until the third date or whatever. This was the twenty-first century, so fuck the patriarchy, right?
But Asher wasn’t some guy I’d met at a club, dancing and drinking and throwing our inhibitions out the window.
He was a guy who was charming and funny, handsome as hell, and surprisingly kind.
And he was opening a business in my building.
Oh, shit.
What the hell had I been thinking? I couldn’t just be kissing him! Not if I wanted to keep living here. There was nothing more awkward than a bad morning-after scene. Especially when you were in proximity and that same scene kept repeating itself day after day.
No, that settled it.
Asher Dunn was officially off limits.
“Kiss? What kiss?” Violet gasped, cutting off my frantic thoughts about Asher and the fact that I’d never kiss him again. “I’m talking about your shirt? Did you have to sacrifice a goat to get the whiskey, or what?”
Looking down at my zombie shirt, I frowned.
“Uh, no...”
“Oh, God!” Violet moaned, cutting me off. “You kissed the goat? Did it bite you? Even goat kisses need to be consensual.”
“Where the hell do you come up with this stuff, Vi?”
“Enough about me. What happened to you and who did you kiss?”
Blowing out a breath, I scrubbed my hand down my face and considered everything that had happened in the last half hour or so.
Shit, everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
“Grab a glass, girl,” I said, waving the bottle between us. “I feel like we have a long night ahead of us.”
“But...” Violet blinked, confused. “It’s not even four yet,” she moaned. However, despite her protests, she still made her way to the fridge and pulled out the carton of pink grapefruit juice—her favorite mix.
“I know.” Marching my way to the kitchen, I grabbed the first two clean glasses I could find; one was a squat glass tumbler, good for any kind of beverage, really. But the other was actually a coffee mug, one side showing a shining sun flipping the bird.
It was Violet’s favorite.
“Alright, Vi,” I said, setting the mug in front of her and opening the bottle. “You start.” Pouring a healthy measure into the mug, I repeated the action with my own glass, waiting while she added the juice to her drink, and I winced. No matter how many times she did it, I would never understand how she could drink it that way. I preferred my booze to match my personality: fiery and bitter.
Plonking my ass down on to the deep couch, I raised my glass in a toast and smiled. “Bottoms up.”
“So. Where do I begin with my great aunt Edith?” Crossing one leg over the other, Violet lowered herself to the floor with almost no effort, nestling herself on the plush rug in the center of our small living space. “Well, for starters, she’s not even really my aunt.” Lifting the mug, Violet took a big swallow, her eyebrows raising high as she exhaled a long breath. “Holy shit, that’s good stuff. Where the hell did you get this? I know for a fact Leona’s never carried anything this awesome.”
“We’ll get to that,” I said, gesturing for her to continue. “If she wasn’t your aunt, then who was she?”
