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“Oh, her. She’s so nice. Loves the Sweet Home Alabama Triple Batter Honey Dijon,” Paulie said.
“And Vladimir Putin?” Perhaps the Russian Mob rumors were true, after all.
“Make-Mine-Miami Cuban Spice.”
Paulie’s bedroom was a Maxfield Parrish–blue, deep and poignant. A dressing room bigger than Colleen’s entire bedroom, filled with clothes.
“Yeah, I don’t wear much of this,” Paulie said. “If you see something you want, take it. You know me. I mostly wear gym clothes.” She was, in fact, now clad in spandex shorts that showed her ripped muscles in great detail, and a Cabrera’s Boxing T-shirt.
“You shouldn’t. You have a great figure. Very girl-power strong. Here. Put this on. My God, it’s Armani! Hello, gorgeous! Dog, don’t chew on that,” she added as one of Paulie’s rescue dogs, this one looking like a dirty mop, began gnawing on a boot.
A few minutes later, Paulie frowned at her reflection.
“See how it hugs you here?” Colleen asked. “You look taller and leaner.”
“These shoes are killing me.”
“Offer it up to God. And this belt is funky and young and surprising. You look incredible!”
“Are you sure? I feel weird.”
“It’s just an adjustment, trust me. Where’d you get all these clothes, anyway?”
“My dad. He does a lot of online shopping.”
“He’s single, right?” Colleen asked. Hey. If she was going to have a sugar daddy, she was going to have one who bought Armani.
“Yeah. Ever since Mom left, you know.”
Colleen squeezed her hand. “Okay, so on to Operation Flat Tire. This is how it’s gonna go.”
“Oh, God. Will this really work?”
“Of course!”
The plan was simple. Bryce was home, a little benign stalking had shown. Joe was at dialysis, Evil Didi was at work. Lucas—not that she was thinking about him too much (pause for laughter)—was out at the public safety building, according to Levi, who’d come to the bar for lunch just half an hour ago.
“So,” Colleen said. “You get a flat tire, and heck, what’s this? You’re right in front of Bryce’s house, and Bryce is home! What do you do?”
“Change the tire.”
“No, Paulina. You don’t change the tire.” The pug barked, backing her up.
“Why?”
“Because Bryce is going to change the tire.”
Paulie frowned. “Oh.”
“You’re going to be all feminine and helpless.”
“But I know how to change a tire.”
Colleen suppressed a sigh. “And that’s great, Paulie. But today, Bryce gets to change the tire and help you, and feel very manly and smart, because men like to be tricked into thinking they’re in control.”
“Oh. Got it.” Her face started its amazing sunrise impression.
“No panicking. Just do what I say, and Bryce and you can have a nice conversation.”
