“Is that Eddie?” Indy asked. “Tel him hel o.”
“Indy says hel o,” I said to Eddie.
Eddie’s head came down.
“Good-bye,” he muttered against my mouth.
I turned my head away to escape his mouth.
“Eddie says hel o too,” I told Indy, feeling like an idiot but keeping her on the line as if my life depended on it.
Eddie’s mouth detoured to my neck and tingles spread from my neck south.
Indy laughed.
“I heard what he said. I’l let you go. See you tonight.”
“No!” I said desperately, but she disconnected.
I took the phone away from my ear and flipped it shut.
One of Eddie’s arms wrapped around me and he pul ed me tight to him. I felt his tongue touch below my ear and the tingles intensified.
My phone rang again.
His head lifted and just before I could flip it open and embark on a very, very long conversation with whoever cal ed me, he pul ed it out of my hand, looked at it and then opened it with his thumb and put it at his ear.
“Yeah?” he said, then he waited. “She’s fine. Cal back later.” Then he flipped it shut without even saying good-bye.
I glared at him as he slid the phone on the counter.
“Who was that?” I asked and both his arms came around me.
“Al y, checkin’ in.”
“I would have liked to talk to her,” I said to him, my voice fil ed with attitude, an attitude I never knew I had before.
“I know, Chiquita, you’re so scared of me, you’d talk to Ted Bundy if you thought he’d keep you out of my bed.”
“That’s not true!” I lied.
It was s o true. Ted Bundy was gross but he’d be interesting to talk to and I was in a serious Eek Moment at the thought of being back in Eddie’s bed, especial y with Eddie in it.
“It’s true and it’s not gonna happen. I final y got almost an entire day where you don’t have to run around like a crazy woman, chargin’ through grocery stores or beggin’ bank tel ers to stay open for you. And you don’t have to work.
You’re mine al day and I have plans.”
Dear Lord.
Eddie had plans.
I felt my doo-da quiver.
“Eddie, I have to cal my Mom. Then I have to go get some flowers for your Mom. Then I have to make something, I don’t know, cookies or a pie, so we don’t go to Blanca’s empty-handed. My Mom would just die if we went to your Mom’s without some sort of baked good. Then I have to…”
He picked up my phone and handed it to me, then his arm went back around me.
“You have five minutes to cal your mother,” he said.