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“Yeah,” I answered.
“The Mexican man or the black man?” Ada asked, her eyes not leaving the window either.
“The Mexican man,” I told her, watching Eddie.
He had put his mirrored sunglasses on and his hands on his hips while he talked. He looked very cool and very hot.
“He’s cute,” Mom said.
Only Mom would describe Eddie as “cute.” He was a lot of things, but he was not cute.
Eddie started to move away and looked up at the apartment building. I jumped out of the window as fast as I could, not wanting him to catch me checking him out. I had enough to worry about with the looming date to have him thinking I was some love-struck cocktail waitress staring longingly out the window at him.
Mom and Ada were still playing nosy neighbors.
“Get away from the window,” I said to them.
“That sure is a fancy truck he has,” Ada remarked.
She wasn’t wrong. It sure was.
Neither of them moved from the window and I could swear I saw Ada wave.
I groaned and went to the bathroom because I was dying to go. Then I looked in the mirror and let out a little scream. I still had half my makeup on and it wasn’t the good half. One word: scary. And Eddie had kissed me looking like this.
How weird was that?
At least my sexy hair held up.
I washed my face, went to my bedroom and put on some jeans and a T-shirt. I rolled up Eddie’s shirt and tucked it under my pillow as a keepsake. I’d give it back if he asked for it, but if he didn’t I was stealing it and I didn’t care what that said about me.
Then I walked into the kitchen to get some food and I heard Mom wheel in behind me.
“Why didn’t you ask Eddie up to the apartment?” she asked.
“He had to get to work,” I told her.
Mom wheeled further into the kitchen. “We saw you drive in. You were down there for a long time. Long enough for him to come up and meet your mother.”
Wonderful.
She was using her snooty mother tone, reminding me I’d been rude.
“We were talking about something,” I explained.
“You could have talked about it up here. I could have made him some iced tea, maybe a sandwich. I’m getting good at sandwiches. It’s lunchtime. Everyone has to eat lunch,” Mom pointed out.
“He’s a busy guy.”
“Not so busy he can’t take time to eat.”
“What’s he do?” Ada asked, coming up behind Mom.
“He’s a cop,” I told her.
Ada’s eyes got huge in her wrinkled face.
“Really?” she breathed, her eyes working, probably wondering how she could finagle a ride-along.
