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“Okay. I’m okay,” I tell him to take a deep breath. He gets out and opens the door for me. With me in the lead, I walk up to the front door and ring it. I look behind me to make sure he is there, and he simply nods at me. I hear someone come to the door and I take a deep breath to fortify myself.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“Hi. I am looking for Graham Parker.”
“Well, it must be my lucky day because you found me.”
Oh brother.
CHAPTERSIX
OLIVER
Is this motherfucker serious? I can’t help feeling like she’s already mine. All my years of training recognize that this man is a threat to her. I growl and pull her closer to me. Parker puts his hands in the air and takes a step back in supplication.
“I see how it is, man. Sorry about that. Are you selling religion, or magazines? You’re too old for cookies.
“We aren’t together,” January says quickly. The way she says it rubs me the wrong way, especially when all I want to is to get to know he biblically. How the hell can I make that happen when she’s so quick to deny us.
“Right. How can I help you then?”
“Did you donate sperm in the late nineties?” January blurts and I have to force myself not to laugh.
“Excuse me?” he asks.
“I’m sorry. Let me start again,” she says and then explains the entire story to the man.”
“God, no way it wasn’t me. I’ve been married since ‘92 and the wife would have killed me for doing something like that.”
“Oh, for some reason I thought this would be easy,” she says laughing wryly.
“Sorry darling. I’ve got something on the stove.”
“Of course, we’ll get out of your hair. Thank you for your time,” I tell him. Graham Parker goes back into his house and lead her back to my car.
“Thank you taking me out here,” she says at the same time her stomach grumbles.
“It’s no problem really but let’s get some food into you,” I say spotting a roadside diner. I pull into the parking lot and into a space. Inside, the diner is twenties themed and that surprises us.
“Welcome to The Roaring Twenties. I’m Greta. What can I get ya?”
“I’ll have the burger and fries.”
“And for your girlfriend?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” January says quickly, pissing me off. “But I’ll have the same thing and a chocolate shake.”
“Coming right up,” she says, turning to leave.
“I think she’s supposed to be Greta Garbo. The wig is a dead giveaway.”
“You gotta stop doing that.”
“Doing what? Pointing out movie stars from the twenties. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve ever done that.”
“No, not that,” I say, chuckling. “You are so quick to deny that you’re my girlfriend.”
“Oh, well, I’m not your girlfriend. Why do people think we’re a thing?”
