Chapter Eleven
“So tell me the truth,” Cherry said as they parked in the underground lot. “What did you really think of Brad’s band?”
“They were good,” Phil said, looking relieved that she wasn’t asking about the devil’s threeway. He seemed content to let it be the elephant in the room. “This way to the elevator.”
She followed him through the dimly lit lot on high alert. She shouldn’t judge an apartment building by its parking garage, but this one wasn’t giving her the best impression: run-down concrete, cracks in the walls, garbage all over the place? Shouldn’t Phil live somewhere nicer than this?
Shouldn’t he live in a house? A big one?
“Which floor?” she asked, her finger hovering over the elevator buttons.
“Fourteen.”
The numbers skipped from twelve to fourteen, which mean
