The Perfect Woman - Nicole French Page 0,87

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. Christ, the things this kid learned from her mother.

“Sof,” I said, still chuckling while she scowled. “I swear to God, cutie, I would never patronize you.”

She stuck her chin out. “That’s not what Mommy says. She says you trap-uh-nize everyone.”

I swallowed back another laugh, straightened my face, and looked her in the eye. “Listen,” I said solemnly. “Girls have secret superpowers And every man knows it, deep down in his guts. That’s why they’re all scared of you, Sof.”

Her eyes blinked, wide and dark. “But I don’t want them to be scared of me, Zio.”

I cocked my head. “Why not, baby girl? You don’t want to be the big bad Sofia?”

She shook her head, curls bouncing. “No. I just want to play ball too.”

I sighed. Wasn’t that the truth? Deep down, all anyone really wanted was to play ball with everyone else. Power, prestige. Teasing, yelling. It was all just a cover-up for that desire, deep down, to be close to others.

“Well, then,” I said. “We just need to make you the best ball player there is, cutie. And if those hooligans say you play ball like a girl, you can just say, ‘That’s right. You jealous, clown boys?’”

“Mattie!”

We both turned to find Frankie on the back porch, a scowl on her face, hands on her hips.

“Sofia,” she called. “We do not call names.”

Sofia blinked, suddenly the picture of innocence. “I didn’t, Mama. That was Zio.”

“Oh, I know,” Frankie said. “That goes for him too. Now, come on in for lunch. Mattie, Derek’s here for you.”

Sofia and I collected her ball and climbed the steps back up to the deck, where Frankie had set out a plate of sandwiches for Derek and me.

“You don’t want to join us?” I asked before she shepherded Sofia inside.

Frankie’s gaze flickered to Derek, then back at me. “No, you guys need to work. We’ll just get in the way.” And before I could argue, she closed the sliding glass door and disappeared inside.

I turned to Derek, who was watching her. He sighed.

“I take it your last date didn’t go so well,” I said as I picked up a sandwich.

Derek had been casually seeing my sister for a few months now with my blessing. To be honest, I didn’t think Frankie could do much better, and Sofia needed a man in her life besides her good-for-nothing uncle.

“Eh.” Derek shrugged. “We had a nice time, but it’s not going anywhere.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? I thought things were all right. You took her to a Mets game, right?”

“I thought we were having a good time, but then someone called. And, I don’t know, she changed.” He shrugged. “It was pretty clear her attentions were occupied somewhere else.”

I frowned. I hadn’t heard anything about this, but my sister wasn’t exactly open about her personal life with me either. She hadn’t even told me she was pregnant with Sofia until she was too far along to hide it anymore.

Derek didn’t expound any more on the situation, and I wasn’t one to meddle.

“Well, sorry, man,” I said. “I would have liked to see things work out.”

He took a bite of his food, closed his eyes with pleasure as he chewed, then swallowed. “Me too. She makes a damn good sandwich.”

I snorted. That right there told me these two weren’t a good match. Frankie was as good a cook as anyone raised by our grandmother, but she was the type of woman who didn’t like to be valued based on that sort of thing. If I’d heard “I’m no man’s maid” once, I’d heard it a hundred damn times.

“Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday,” Derek said, pulling out his phone. “I know you’ve been pulling extra hours getting ready for trial. But I thought you’d want to see this.”

I beckoned for the phone. “Don’t worry about that. You know we’ve been stuck for a while. Pray to fuckin’ God something turns up with the bugs on Gardner’s apartment, because otherwise, we’re going to lose on appeals.”

“Well, check this out.”

Derek pressed play, and a blurry video began on the screen. It was on some nondescript street in an equally nondescript neighborhood that literally could have been any New England city.

A car pulled up to the curb—a big black Escalade that looked very out of place in the neighborhood. A woman exited the passenger side, purse looped over her slim wrist.

“What the fuck is this?” I demanded.

“It’s not what,” he said, “but

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