The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,39

Kart. I’m looking forward to seeing Amelia, but is it worth making my girl feel like this?

Bell’s finishing the other cufflink when the doorbell rings. She jumps down and sprints out of the bedroom.

“Stop right there,” I call after her. “Don’t you dare open that door.”

“But it’s Flora,” she cries from the living room.

“I don’t care. How many goddamn times have I told you—do not open the door by yourself at night.”

“But it’s Flora.”

“You don’t know that.” I rush into the room after her. “It could be a stranger.”

She’s hanging on the door handle, her eyes watery, as if she’s waited her whole life to answer that door and I’ve taken it away from her.

“Now that I’m in the room with you, you can open it,” I say.

She does. Flora’s there, smiling warmly. “Why, hello, Bell,” she says, stepping in. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Bell looks back at me, suddenly shy for all her bravado.

“Say hello,” I tell her firmly. “Mrs. Picolli was nice enough to come over and spend her evening with you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Flora says.

“Come in.” I hold the door as Bell glowers and then slinks away.

Pico ambles up the sidewalk, his motorcycle parked in the driveway.

“Give ol’ mom a ride on the scooter or what?” I ask.

“No, dumbass. She drove herself.”

Pico may work for me now, but I’ve been busting his balls since before we were teenagers. His dad, Flora’s late husband, worked for my grandpa.

I slap him on the back. “Do me favor and see if you can distract Bell. She’s in one of her moods.”

“I’m on it.” He pulls a deck of cards from his back pocket. “Learned some new magic tricks recently.”

Thank God for his geeky side. It might actually save us tonight.

“Thanks for doing this,” I tell Flora as Pico goes to find Bell. “I’m sorry about her. She doesn’t want me to go.”

Flora takes off her cardigan, and I hang it up for her. “She’ll get over it.”

“Just when I think she’s maturing at light speed, she pulls this crap. I think it’s getting worse.” I rub my eyebrow. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. She’s going to cop an attitude with you.”

“That’s exactly why you should. Believe me, dear, I have five children. I can handle her.” Flora eyes my suit. “You look handsome, by the way. Please tell me you have a date to this party.”

“I’m just helping Sadie out.” My heart thumps once when I think of Amelia. She isn’t my date, which means I have to keep my hands off her in public. How can I after last week? I knew the woman an hour before I had her in my arms, kissing her where all of Manhattan could see. It’ll be a feat to restrain myself until I can get her alone.

Flora looks as though she’s waiting for me to continue, as if I’m really leaving because I have something up my sleeve. “Can I get you something to drink?” I offer.

“I’ll take a water.”

I lead Flora into the kitchen and get a glass out of a cabinet, even though she’s been here a hundred times and knows where everything is. She continues to watch me.

I don’t know if it’s the maternal vibe she gives off the way my mom used to when we were really young, but her silence has a way of filling the room, pressurizing the air around me until I crack. “Actually, there will be a girl there tonight,” I say.

“Really?” Flora sounds surprised. She knew Shana well, knows our history. Then again, there aren’t many people who don’t. It’s not as if Elizabeth is a small town, but sometimes it feels that way. “Who’s the lucky lady?” she asks.

“No, it’s not like that,” I say right away. “Not serious. Just someone who . . . I mean, we’re just friends, but . . .”

“I see,” Flora says. “A friend like Denise.”

My cheeks warm. Pico and his big fucking mouth. Or maybe it was Denise. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to get Flora on her side. Flora’s one of the few people I respect enough to hear her advice. “Yeah,” I say, even though Amelia isn’t like any other woman I know, and certainly not Denise. “Like Denise. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

It’s uncomfortable talking to Flora about my sex life. Especially since my sex life is extremely . . . casual. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”

“Are you apologizing to me or the women?” She smiles as I fill her