condo weekly—she was going to give me a hard time again, claiming she had nothing to do.
Maybe she could write the book.
Or … or … perhaps my personal assistant, Josie, could, since, yes, I’d also managed to clean out most of the emails in my inbox and would likely get an earful when I saw her again on Monday.
Rinsing my cup and shoving it into the dishwasher, I turned around and studied the kitchen, beginning to fear I was going to find something else to clean if I wasn’t careful. Luckily, my phone rang again and I got sidetracked. Fishing it out of my pocket, I glanced at the screen and smiled.
“Abby! What’s up, kiddo?” I asked.
“Not much,” she replied, sounding happy.
The sound of her voice instantly made my night better. It didn’t solve my inability to write a damn thing, but I did enjoy talking to her.
“Shouldn’t you be out painting the town on Friday night?” I joked.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
“You know me. I’m old, tired.”
Abby laughed, the soft chuckle making my heart lift. A year ago we’d been having an entirely different conversation, and no matter how hard I’d tried, I hadn’t managed to pull a smile out of her for months, much less a laugh.
“You are that,” she said.
“I knew you’d agree. So what’s up? How’re things?”
“Good. I was wondering if you were coming by this weekend.”
I hadn’t planned on it, but that wasn’t what I told her. “I can. You need something?”
“No. Just wanted to check. Thought maybe we could go see that new movie that came out.”
“Please tell me it ain’t some sappy love story.”
“Not a chance. I know all about those sappy love stories you write.”
I hoped she’d heard that secondhand, because I knew what my books entailed, and no fifteen-year-old kid should be reading what went on in my warped and twisted—not to mention oversexed—imagination.
“When did you wanna go?” Even if I’d had plans, I wouldn’t have been able to tell Abby no. For the past year, I’d spent a lot of time with her. Whenever she called, I made a point to be there, and I always would. As I’d told Liz, Abby was doing better, but I wasn’t going to do anything that might trigger a relapse. The kid was making progress, but she still had a long road in front of her.
“Sunday work?” she asked, sounding doubtful.
“Definitely. I’ll swing by and pick you up early afternoon? Text me a good time for the movie, cool?”
We said our good-byes and hung up, which left me standing in my kitchen, still wondering what the hell I could do to pass the time. I knew what my plans were for Sunday, but I still had tonight and tomorrow to contend with, and since I wasn’t writing…
“Any suggestions, Cat?” The black-and-white bundle of fur reclining on my leather sofa didn’t so much as give me a second look. He had been a gift for my birthday last year—from my niece, of course. Since my sister wouldn’t allow Abby to have a cat, Abby had thought that getting me one would be almost as good. I didn’t agree with her, but for the most part, Cat and I got along. He ruled the house; I let him. Simple, as long as I understood the rules.
“Thanks for the help. I’ll just—”
A sound in the hall brought me up short. I stared at the door, then glanced at Cat, who didn’t seem to care at all.
Not surprising.
The noise grew louder and I realized there were people out there. Several, by the sound of it.
Not that it was any of my business, and it didn’t appear as though they were coming to my place, so I knew I should’ve left well enough alone.
And I would’ve … if I hadn’t been desperate for something to do.
Other than, you know, pretend to be writing when I really wasn’t.
Chapter Four
Presley
Forty-five minutes after my conversation with Blaze—when I’d finally made it to my condo—I realized I should’ve stayed at the shop. There was a perfectly good cot that would’ve worked nicely as a bed for the night, but no, I was naïve enough to think that my roommates had remembered our conversation from last night.
Last. Freaking. Night.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, in fact, when I had sat Gil and Gavin down and insisted that they put a halt to the orgies in my living room. Simple as that.
Despite hoping otherwise, I knew. I fucking knew Gil was at