Sure, the 80’s almond-colored appliances could go. And some kickass lighting wouldn’t hurt.
But his kitchen was homey and cozy, and with those red walls and the BMG poster and the unbelievably cool David Mann print of the biker on the chopper with the clouds behind him forming a woman’s face, blowing wind at his back, it was edgy cool too.
All of that a lot like Rush.
He closed the door behind us, locked it, and I watched him do something he didn’t do when we came in before.
Go to a pad I hadn’t noticed by the door and punch in a code.
Not taking any chances.
He then turned to me.
“Want a beer?” he asked.
I wanted tequila.
Without me saying a word, but watching me closely, he amended, “Want a beer with a tequila chaser?”
Okay, his apparent ability to read my mind was just freaking me out.
“Door number two,” I told him, moving to his freestanding counter before asking, “I know we left her twenty minutes ago, but do you mind if I call Essence? Check in. Make sure she’s groovy? I haven’t had the chance to fully explain things and it’s kinda time I did that.”
And seeing as a dead woman was shoved out of a car in front of her house, that was the understatement of the year.
“Not at all, baby,” he muttered, having dumped my (latest) bag at the door, his head was in the fridge.
I pulled my phone out of my purse, tossed the purse on his countertop, then slid my ass on one of his stools as I watched him twist the top off brews while heading my way.
He put one in front of me and I murmured, “Thanks, Rush,” got a gentle look from those amazing crystal-blue eyes and then he moved to a cupboard.
I gave my attention to my phone.
Rush had a bottle of Herradura on the counter with two shot glasses and was standing opposite me when Essence picked up.
“Hey, Rebel girl,” she greeted. “Good timing. Boz got back and me and him were just about to light up a spliff.”
My back went straight and my eyes shot to Rush’s face. “Essence. Do not let Boz smoke pot. He’s there to protect you, not get stoned.”
Rush caught my gaze, his amused, but I didn’t think anything was funny, so I narrowed my eyes at him.
He grew more amused and set about pouring shots of tequila.
“Calm down, darling. I have a feeling Boz could perform neurosurgery stoned,” Essence said in my ear.
I watched Rush’s attractive hand pour a healthy shot and suggested, “How about just this first night you encourage him to keep all his wits about him?”
“You’re freaked,” Essence correctly guessed.
After a woman had been shoved out of a car outside my home, my home, Rebel Stapleton’s home, indicating someone out there knew who I was and what I was doing?
“Uh, yeah,” I confirmed.
“And you feel guilty.”
I shut my mouth.
Rush slid a shot glass toward me.
I lifted my gaze to his just as I picked up the glass.
Then I shot it.
I slid it back his way.
He looked amused again.
“Uh,” I began. “Yeah,” I repeated more quietly.
“Who was murdered, darling?” Essence whispered.
“Diane,” I whispered back.
Now Essence didn’t sound gentle.
She sounded pissed.
“Say what?”
“Essence—”
“I thought she ODed.”
“Well—”
“You let me think she’d ODed. I went to that girl’s funeral and no one talked about her being murdered.”
“That isn’t really, uh . . . funeral discussion.”
“Well, let me share something with you, Rebel girl, that’s friend discussion. I’d known that girl for years.”
I tapped my finger on the counter, staring at my empty shot glass.
Rush filled it.
“And from what I could gather with all the discussion tonight, you got yourself messed up in some serious business thinking you’d find her killer,” she stated.
“Listen, Essence—”
“And you didn’t share that with me either.”
I shut up.
Rush slid the shot glass my way.
I wrapped my fingers around it and stared at it.
“You know,” Essence said in my ear, “Diane was a good girl. A sweet girl. I liked her. She was likable. I was heartbroken she lost herself in drugs. I was heartbroken she was gone. I was heartbroken watching how heartbroken you were, she was gone. And I was right next door and you didn’t say bupkus to me.”
“I thought I was Superwoman,” I admitted. “I thought I could handle it.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have been there to handle my heartbreak if you got yourself dead doing some fool amateur detective baloney,” she retorted.