is my best friend. He won’t care.”
Actually, he does care, because he bitches about me parking in his garage every time I park in his garage. But in my defense, it has plenty of room that he’s not even using, and if I can get my sweet ride out of the sun and into the shade, I’m gonna.
I leave the keys in the ignition.
Climb out, scuttling to the passenger side.
Hollis has unbuckled, too, and is pushing the door open when I make my way over, attempting to get out of the low bucket seat of my sports car. I offer her a hand.
“I’ve got it.”
But she doesn’t got it, can barely get out, the seat she’s in determined to keep her ass in it. Smart seat.
“Here, just let me help you.”
Hollis hands me the gift bag then attempts to heave herself up. “This is ridiculous. What a dumb car.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
She gives me another eye roll as she smooths out the fabric of her skirt, then a nervous smile.
But that can’t be right—what does she have to be nervous about? She’s the general manager’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. Everyone inside works for her old man.
That doesn’t mean I won’t try to keep making her laugh.
I let us both into the house, bypassing the side gate outside so I can set some things down in the kitchen—Hollis wasn’t the only one to bring a gift. I come armed with new grilling tools and a small cooler full of hamburger patties, a roast, and several pounds of lean chicken breasts, because I’m thoughtful like that.
And let’s not forget I spend half my time at Harding’s house, crashing the party of two out of sheer boredom and loneliness. There, I said it—I’m lonely.
“You brought them a housewarming gift, too?” Hollis looks on curiously as I punch in the code, hip-bump the front door open without knocking or ringing the doorbell, and help myself to Harding’s foyer.
“My mom taught me some manners.” We’re both all the way inside, so I close the door behind Hollis until it clicks shut.
“That was really nice of you. Very thoughtful.”
Yeah, it is, considering I practically live here and eat most of my friend’s food. Come to think of it, maybe I should actually move in. It isn’t the worst idea since I’m never at my own place, always wielding a hammer when I’m flipping a house, spending my down time on Noah’s couch flat on my back with a remote in my hand.
Things will probably have to change now that his girlfriend has moved in, but I choose to ignore the fact that he doesn’t want me around anymore.
Anymore? Did he ever?
Potato, potahto. Semantics has never been my forte.
I set the cooler on the floor and the grilling tools on the counter, along with the card I bought that reads When my roommate said he was going to kill whoever was taking all of his stuff, I nearly shit his pants and set the red envelope on the counter.
Beyond, in the yard, it looks like everyone has arrived, and I glance over at Hollis, whose eyes are glued to the pool area—and Marlon, his arm around what could only be a jock chaser.
Real classy, bringing a groupie to your teammate’s house to make someone else jealous.
Hollis shakes her head to clear it then shoots me a forced smile. “Wait! We can’t go out there yet.”
“Why?”
“We never settled on a safe word.”
Shit, we didn’t—the one thing we didn’t discuss in the car on the way over is the word we’re going to use if she wants to bail on this party.
“Marvin Gaye,” I suggest.
“That’s two words.”
“Right, but then everyone will just assume you want to go get it on, and no questions asked—boom, we slip out the back door.”
Hollis stares blankly. “How about something simple, like spaghetti?”
I feign a yawn.
“What? I can just say, ‘Oh, I’m making sauce from scratch tonight for my spaghetti,’ and then no one will think I’m being rude.”
“What’s rude is talking about food when I’m hungry.” Which reminds me… “I like tacos—what about something having to do with that?”
“Hmm,” she muses. “That would make more sense if it were Tuesday.”
I disagree. “Taco kitty.”
“I refuse to say taco kitty in public.”
“How about ‘These are na-cho tacos’?” I pause. “Get it?”
“No to tacos.”
“Would you care to revisit my earlier suggestion of wieners?” I pronounce it veener, a good old-fashioned German pronunciation, though if I recall from my languages class in high school, it’s