Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,27
you had the DTs. So come here instead.”
“I’m not sure Vegas is much better,” she teased. “Besides, they didn’t clip my wings for long; I could be back in the air by Tuesday.”
“Jan setting up a new drop for you? Good.”
“Yeah, and she doesn’t believe the test, which was a huge relief.”
“I fucking love our union, man.”
They all did. (Well. Maybe not management.) As much as the Northeastern Southwest jingle grated on her, working for them was swell. Five weeks’ vacation, unlimited brownies at HQ, dental (thank goodness—see: brownie policy), scads of family leave, and every lounge was stuffed with (more) brownies, milk, and cold cereal. (The negotiations over Raisin Bran, Frosted Flakes, granola, and Cocoa Puffs had taken weeks and had nearly resulted in a walkout.)
“Listen, Ava, you just say the word and I’ll be there with my pee. I’m clean as a whistle! My only vice is hard cider.”
“That’s not your only vice. And you’re sweet, G.B., but I don’t think fraud is the way to go here.”
“Oh, you always say that.” Now he was munching and pouting, which was off-putting and hilarious.
“And I always will.” Her phone twitched, and when Ava pulled it away from her ear, she saw “Yummy” pop up on her caller ID. “Gotta go.”
“Okay, but remember: FedEx will ship my urine to you anywhere in the—”
She cut him off, and not a second too soon. “Hi, Blake. Did you finally find my bra?”
“That bra is gone into the ether, and you well know it.”
“I like how you talk like it’s 1535.”
“I’m not, actually. Listen, I had a few minutes and saw the news. I know you didn’t like to discuss it, but that was your friend’s memorial that was vandalized, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“That is rather unbelievable.” He sighed. “I know we aren’t … anything. Anymore. I just wanted to reach out and let you know I was thinking of you.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Well, not quite. Blake’s kindness right on the heels of G.B.’s was making her eyes water. Stupid allergies! Change the subject, quick! “Hey, Blake? You sound tired.” In point of fact, Blake sounded like hell on toast: exhausted and faint, like he was calling from Mars. His baritone rumble was barely sexy, which she hadn’t thought possible. Please don’t be my fault. Please be something totally unrelated to me breaking up with him a few days ago. Not that we were ever officially going out. “Are you okay?”
“My mother and brother are trying to kill me,” he reported calmly.
“Huh.” Okay, so, a good news / bad news scenario. Whatever was wrong, it was nothing to do with her. But his family might be trying to kill him, which was less great. “How’s that going?”
“Like the Wars of the Roses: unspeakable property damage, vicious infighting, betrayal, and a horrifying body count. A figurative body count, but still.”
“That sucks.”
“It does indeed suck. And I’ve been charged with saving Sweetheart, North Dakota, from destitution and ruin. And the dry cleaner misplaced my best slacks.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Soooooo in the few days since she’d heard from him, Blake had fled to the plains of North Dakota and gone clinically insane.* This shouldn’t comfort me, but it does, a little. Nice of him to check in, too. “Gotta say, you’re helping me put a few problems in perspective.”
“Delighted to serve.”
“So … good luck with all of that.” Inadequate, but it wasn’t like Blake actually wanted her help. This was a controlled Blakevent.TM He wanted to talk and then jump back into whatever he was neck-deep in. “And thanks for reaching out.”
“Of course. And good luck dealing with your, ah, situation.”
Situation, she thought as she hung up. Yeah, that was one word for it. Disaster also fit. As did nightmare.
And on that thought, she dozed off. No surprise; she’d gotten little sleep the night before. But she should have held off on her nap until she was thinking of something pleasant, like a perfectly ripe golden kiwi. Instead, she was thinking of nightmares, and got one.
A bad one.
Eighteen
Haven’t you ever wanted to disappear?
“You’re going to be murdered tomorrow. I think we should talk about that.”
Yawn. Nothing very interesting ever happens around here. Which is the point. It’s why everyone was so surprised. Bad things happen, sure, but not interesting bad things.
“Again: you’re going to be murdered tomorrow. Believe me, it’ll be plenty interesting. Cops and news vans up the wazoo. Your mom’s gonna alternately hate and love the cameras.”