23
1024 Words
And water, of course. Designer French water in glass bottles nestled in between everything else.
Ellie says, “There’s a bunch of food in the pantry, too. Fancy shmancy stuff. Half of it I’ve never even heard of.”
On a hunch, I open the freezer door.
It’s full to bursting with pints of pistachio ice cream.
I turn to Ellie slowly, feeling like I’m in a dream. “So…I’m confused.”
She makes a face at me. “That your rich boyfriend bought you groceries?” My heart clenches, and my voice goes high. “He told you he was my boyfriend?” Ellie rolls her eyes, like I’m being ridiculous with all the unnecessary questions.
“Listen, I know you’re a super private person, and you don’t like talking about your love life, and I don’t blame you after what happened with that douche canoe ex of yours. I get it. But you’ve been living like a nun since we moved in together—”
When my expression sours, she adds quickly, “I’m not judging. My point is that this guy is crazy hot, has impeccable manners, brings you food, and is probably related to the royal family. You should make an effort with him. Try to open up.”
I lift my brows. “The British royal family? You’re aware his accent is Irish, right?”
“Ireland’s a part of Great Britain, duh.”
“Don’t tell that to everyone in the Republic of Ireland, a sovereign nation not part of the UK, which isn’t the same thing as Northern Ireland, which is.”
She shrugs. “Tomato, tomahtoe. They’re on the same island and they both have Ireland in their names. If they wanted people to keep it straight, they should’ve made that s**t less complicated. We don’t call Canada North America, do we?”
“Yes, we literally do, because North America is a continent, dummy, which Canada is part of. Are you sure you graduated from college?” “Geography isn’t my strong suit.”
I muse, “You don’t say?”
She rolls her eyes. “My point is that he’s obviously got aristocratic genes. Plus, he’s crazy hot.” “You already said that.”
“It bears repeating.”
I shut the fridge and freezer doors and rub my temples. “I’m so confused.”
“And you already said that. What’s to be confused about?” “First and foremost, you gave him your spare key.” She frowns, like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“And you’d never met him before? Hello? You’re just handing out keys to our apartment now like candy on Halloween?”
She chuckles, turning back to the eggs. “What, like he’s a home invader? He thought shopping for groceries would be a good way to bribe his way in the door before he tied me to a chair and rummaged through my panty drawers for hidden jewelry? Come on. Besides, home invaders don’t wear Armani suits and Patek Philippe timepieces.”
It figures she’d know what brand of suits he wears. I only knew because Carla told me. And I know nothing about watches except that if they’re called a timepiece, they’re expensive.
“But you’d never met him before.”
She slides the eggs from the frying pan onto a plate, shrugging. “I know how tight-lipped you are. You could be on your honeymoon, and I’d only find out you’d gotten married when I got a postcard in the mail. I figured you just hadn’t told me about him yet.”
Shooting a glance toward her bedroom door, where Ty apparently is still sleeping, she adds, “Honestly, though, if the man had rung the bell and said, ‘Hello, I’m here to ravage you,’ I’d have torn off all my clothes myself. He’s so damn—” “Hot. I’m aware. So was Ted Bundy.”
I’m not sure why I’m annoyed, because Liam has the same effect on me as he has on her. And Carla. And every other woman with a pair of functioning ovaries, I’m sure. Even police officers are dazzled by him, and they’re trained to be all kinds of suspicious.
There’s just something about him that makes you lower your guard.
“So this asshole who assaulted you,” Ellie says as she shakes hot sauce onto the fried eggs. “What’s his story? Was he on drugs? Was he arrested?”
She stops what she’s doing and turns to look me up and down. Her voice softens. “More importantly, are you sure you’re okay? That looks like it hurts.”
She obviously hasn’t seen anything in the news or heard any local gossip about three dead guys found in the alley behind Buddy’s Diner. But the police were at the hospital, which means they definitely knew something. Liam said the situation had been taken care of…but what exactly did he mean?
Like suppressing news stories taken care of?
Like paying off the cops taken care of?
Like, maybe, removing bodies from a crime scene?
“Tru?” says Ellie, sounding concerned.
“Yep. I’m okay.” I say it firmly then turn away, focusing on the coffee pot. “I just really need some coffee.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything else. Seriously. You should probably take a few days off, too. Let that bruising heal up a little before you go back to work.”
This is when I remember that Liam has already spoken to Buddy about that very thing.
“Hey, can I borrow your cell? My purse is at work, but I want to call my boss.”
“Sure.” Ellie gestures toward the foyer. “My bag’s on the table.”
“Thanks.” I pour myself a cup of coffee, then retrieve Ellie’s cell from her purse. I head back into my bedroom, perch on the side of my bed, and dial the diner.
“Thanks for calling Buddy’s,” says a cheerful female voice. “How can I help you?”
- Writer
