The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,93
into Jem’s thigh, and Jem reached to pet the Lab’s flank.
“It’d be different if I could read. It’d be different if I weren’t such a fucking moron.”
Scipio whuffed.
“Exactly,” Jem said. “That’s exactly right. I don’t have any other choice.”
Borrowing Tean’s laptop, Jem pulled up a browser and pecked out the address for a search engine. He typed in the name Brigitte Fitzpatrick. According to LouElla, she was the bitch who had stolen Jem’s identity and ruined his credit. He got millions of results, some of them for Bridget Fitzpatrick, some of them for a CEO’s account on LinkedIn, some of them for Facebook. The wall of text stopped him cold, so he did what he always did. He gave up and tried something else.
“Oh,” Tinajas said when she answered. They’d been in some of the same foster homes at different points, and although Tinajas had managed to make a real life for herself—she even had a sweet job at the DMV—they still stayed in touch. “You’re alive.”
“I’m alive.”
“Too bad. I figured some rentboy had finally cut you open from balls to butt and let you bleed out in an alley.”
“That’s kind of poetic. You’ve been working on that one.”
“Not that I’d know if you were dead. Not that I’d have any idea.”
“Ah. That’s what this is about.”
“Not that I’d have any idea if you’re alive and happy and cuddling a million puppies or hooked up to a ventilator in an ICU and waiting for a butt transplant after that rentboy opened up your stern.”
“Have you been watching those gay pirate movies again?”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Busy.”
“I’ve been calling you. I’ve been worried about you. Kike went by a few days ago, and the Latus told him you got kicked out. Where have you been staying? Are you ok? Do you want to crash on my couch?”
Kike was Tinajas’s coworker and Jem’s semi-regular hookup. Friends with benefits might have been another term, but Jem and Kike had never been friends. So maybe just human with benefits. Acquaintance with benefits. Sexy but also stuck-up lifer government bureaucrat with benefits might have been closest.
“I’m ok. And I’m sorry. I’ve just been really, really busy.”
“Where have you been sleeping?”
“I know it’s shitty to call just to ask for a favor—”
“Bitch,” Tinajas said, “all you ever do is call me to ask for favors. If that bothered me, we wouldn’t be friends. Why are you avoiding my question?”
“The name is Brigitte Fitzpatrick, and I need to know where she lived back—”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare tell me you’re playing bunkmates with that emotional black hole who fucked up your entire life last time you started dicking him.”
Through the open sliding door came the smell of fresh-cut grass; a string trimmer was whining in the distance.
“First,” Jem said, “I want to know what a respectable pencil-pusher like you is doing saying words like ‘dicking.’”
“Do not test me right now. I am pregnant and I am uncomfortable and I am really seriously considering driving over there and rearranging that guy’s pretty face.”
“He is pretty, isn’t he?”
“Jem!”
“I know you don’t like him.”
“I don’t like him,” Tinajas said in a tone that was clearly meant to be a mocking imitation of Jem’s, “because he tore your heart out and stomped all over it.”
“That went both ways.”
“Yes, but you’re the one I care about. I don’t give a shit what happens to him. Come stay with me, please.”
“Wait. You’re pregnant?”
“God, yes. Tony. Again. And he proposed. Again. If I have to see his grandmother’s ring one more time, I’m going to lose my fabulous, fabled cool.”
“Congratulations! Boy or girl?”
“Do not try to change the subject.”
“Look, he’s—I don’t know how to say it. We’re just a good fit. And I like being here. And I honestly think I might get another job. You know. I don’t know. I mean. It kind of seems like it’s time to grow up.”
“Whoa.”
“Very funny.”
“Next thing, you’ll be talking about getting a checking account. And then you’ll learn how to stitch samplers. And then you’ll be canning peaches and wrangling a herd of tiny veterinary doctor babies.”
“Goodbye. I’ll call you in nine months.”
“For fuck’s sake, what do you need?”
“Brigitte Fitzpatrick. Previous address.”
“There are six women with that name who have vehicles currently registered to them.”
“I’ve got a current address.” He read it out to her. “Does that match anything?”
“Yes. She had vehicles registered previously in Sandy and West Jordan. Do you want one of those addresses?”