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“That’s right – and if you pull out those mad skillz again, we’ll have a bowl in the morning. Provided you decide to stick around this time.”
I laughed out loud. “Wow, you really know how to romance a girl. Sugary breakfast treats at 3.99 a box.”
“Stick with me, baby, and you can have all the cereal you like.”
“Well, that amazing offer notwithstanding, I think it’s my duty to inform you that my ‘mad skillz’ are in no way linked to my emotional well-being, which is rock solid, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, that’s what all the crazy bitches say.”
I laughed. “Has anybody ever told you you’re an asshole?”
“All the time. Anybody every told you you’re crazy?”
“Never.”
“You must not date much.”
Actually, I didn’t. Not a whole lot of time with my P.I. job… and not much interest since Ali died.
“Either that,” he continued, “or you just bury the bodies out back behind the house.”
My insides went cold.
The joke was too close.
Too close, too raw, too soon.
All I could see in my mind’s eye was Ali’s body laid out in the casket.
He didn’t notice and kept prattling on. “Is that why you really left LA? A long trail of dead guys who called you on your psycho ways?”
I feigned a laugh. “You got me. I confess.”
“Well, don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me… as long as you’re up for Round Four.”
“…Round Four?”
“The boxing metaphor? You really gotta start reading more.”
“Right. Yeah.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Hey… you okay?”
No, I wasn’t. I’d been caught off-guard and let myself get sucker-punched, even if accidentally. I was blowing my cover.
“I’m fine,” I said brightly.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s… I don’t know,” I said lamely. “Sorry. I’m just being… sorry.”
Another long pause.
“I wanted to apologize, too.” He said it with strength and sincerity, not any sort of need to get back in my good graces. He said it like he felt he genuinely had something to apologize for. Something minor, but something worth saying.
