In a Badger Way (Honey Badger Chronicles #2) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,66
foolish belief that the sisters would just spend the rest of the evening not speaking to each other. But once they were back at the MacKilligan house and before Shen could even settle on the couch and begin on a nice pile of bamboo stalks, they started again.
It got so bad—with the pair standing in the middle of the living room just screeching at each other—that Shen decided to spend his night off anywhere but here. He went to his room, threw a few things into a small duffel and texted his big sister.
Can I stay at your Long Island house tonight?
The Hamptons one? The Mill Neck one? The Old Westbury one?
Stop. Freeport is fine.
Yeah. Sure. Key under rock that looks like turtle. Everything OK?
Yeah. Just need a break. Thanks.
Anytime. Just don’t bring whores to my hot tub.
Shen laughed.
I’ll keep that in mind.
He picked up the small duffel and then a larger one that had a nice supply of bamboo. Just in case his sister’s housekeeper hadn’t kept her pantry stocked.
With everything in hand, he went down the stairs. He could hear the sisters going at it, still in the living room. Keeping his gaze on the floor, Shen moved into the room and got close to the couch, so he could slip by them and not be noticed. He’d just neared the door when Charlie bellowed from the kitchen, “That is it!”
Shen froze. He knew if he made a run for it, the three sisters could take him down. It was an instinctive response. Running made you prey. So he stood still and waited.
Charlie stormed into the living room, shoving her bickering sisters apart.
“I’m done with this bullshit!”
Stevie and Max started screaming at each other again; their faces close. But Charlie pushed them apart once more.
“Get out!” she ordered Max.
“Me? What did I do?”
“You exist!” Stevie barked.
“I want you out too,” Charlie told Stevie.
“Me?” she gasped, abruptly sounding like the innocent “baby” sister. “But you love me.”
Charlie ignored that and looked around the living room. She spotted Shen—he could feel those wolf eyes on him—and ordered, “Take her out of here, Shen.”
Now he had to say it. “Me? Why me?”
“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“No! She is not my—”
“She is now!” Charlie snapped and then she shoved her sister at Shen.
“Hey!” Now Stevie sounded like Stevie. Annoyed and petulant.
“Get out! Both of you!” She pointed at Stevie and then Max. “I want everybody out of this fucking house! I’m sick of this shit!”
“Fine!” Max yelled.
“Fine!” Stevie screamed.
Both sisters split off and Shen took his chance. He headed to the door, went outside, walked quickly to his SUV, got in, started it, and had nearly pulled away when the passenger door opened.
Stevie and her oversized backpack filled with her many, many notebooks nearly collided with his head before she settled into the passenger seat. She slammed the door, tossed the pack to the backseat, put on her seat belt, crossed her arms over her chest, and proceeded to pout.
“Look—” he began.
What?” she bellowed.
Shen briefly raised his hands, palms out. “Nothing.”
She settled back into her seat and Shen pulled onto the road.
After about twenty minutes, he began, “You know—”
“Do you mind not talking to me right now?” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood!”
“If I’m so annoying, I can take you back to your house.”
Her head turned; her mouth dropped open in shock. “You would say that to me? I’m your girlfriend!”
“You’re not my girlfriend!”
Stevie let out a disgusted sound. “Keep up that attitude, mister, and I won’t be.”
And Shen really didn’t know what to make of that reply.
* * *
Stevie followed Shen into the house he said his sister owned. A five-bedroom, three-bath, two-story contemporary in Freeport, Long Island, overlooking the channel.
“I would live here,” she told him once they were inside.
“It is nice.”
“Hardwood floors? Cathedral ceilings in the living and dining room? Full, state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless steel everything?” she said, peeking into the kitchen next to the dining room. “This is a little more than nice.”
“I guess.”
She examined the living room furniture. “Your sister has very nice taste.”
“She should,” he muttered, dropping his duffel bags by the couch and walking to the large glass doors that looked out over the channel.
“What does that mean?”
“She’s in the style business. It’s her job to have good taste.”
“The style business?” Stevie asked, immediately becoming annoyed. “God, you don’t mean some idiot that promotes a tea that can help a person lose fifty pounds? Or shows twenty different ways to put on mascara?”