“Like what? Admiration? I wish I could be so fearless with my waistline.”
She makes a face. “I don’t have a waistline. And for your information, I didn’t have a say in it either. This one is sort of running the show.” She pats her belly openly. “So you can stop judging me.” She moans her way through another bite while grinning up at me like the cat who ate the red velvet canary.
“I aspire to be you.”
“Oh!” She dabs her lips with her napkin while her eyes widen as if she’s just had an epiphany. My God, I hope that’s all she’s having. I have a sinking feeling I would make a terrible midwife. “Speaking of being me. I have something to give you—that is, if you’re interested.” She produces a clear plastic gallon freezer bag filled halfway with lipsticks in every shape and size.
“Ooh, I likey.” I’m quick to snatch the loot from her. “By the way, just for the record, I think your vlogs are ten times more entertaining now that you have a special guest joining you each week.” I glance to her burgeoning belly. “Far more so than it was when you ran solo. That gassy session? If I were you, I wouldn’t go near Mexican food for at least three days before going live.”
“I had the hiccups!”
“Please, you belched out each sentence like a professional frat boy. And that foot cramp that sent you hollering last week? Pure gold, I tell you. Phalangeal gold!”
Sunday takes a moment to openly glare at me. “Just wait until my live delivery. I plan on gnawing off the umbilical cord myself.”
“Ha-ha. You’re disgusting by the way.” I spin the bag laden with colorful treasures. “So, what gives? Let me guess. Seth doesn’t like anything coming between him and your lips?”
“Not quite. In fact, it doesn’t have anything to do with Seth. Now that I’m going to be a mom, I need to take better care of myself. I only want natural ingredients in my cosmetics and, believe you me, it’s been a challenge. Do you know how many different lipsticks contain aluminum in its many forms? There’s no way I want to go senile in my old age just because I was uninformed in my youth.”
“Gee, thanks for thinking of me. Not.” I drop the weighted bag onto the table with a bang. “So, what’s that hot pink gunk staining your lips? Let me guess. Pressed berries? By the way, I’m really digging this whole Mother Earth vibe you have going on.”
Her brows rise as she does her best to suppress a smile. “It’s this.” She whips out a cherry red lip crayon and twists it my way until the ingredients list is visible to me.
“Sounds like good stuff, I guess. No aluminum, so it looks as if your IQ points are safe for now. Wait a minute.” I squint a little to get a better look. “What’s carmine? I’m pretty sure that’s questionable. Isn’t that the carcinogen that’s been getting a bad rap lately? The one they say is slowly poisoning us by way of innocent looking sodas?”
“That’s caramel coloring you’re thinking of.” She snatches back her au natural crayon and winces at it herself. “Carmine... Huh, I don’t know.” Sunday gets straight to googling the hell out of it. That’s always been her specialty—defining, understanding, dissecting, and making the right decisions with the exception, of course, of that baby in her belly. Although, I’m willing to bet that baby turns out to be the best mistake she’s ever made. She may not have sought out to make a human that night back in December, but Sunday being the walking good luck charm she is just so happened to bed the love of her life. My mind wanders straight back to Mr. Anonymous, and I let out a dreamy sigh.
“Oh no!” Sunday jumps a little in her seat before letting out an arduous moan. “No, no. This is terrible.”
“I told you it was bad. I bet in thirty years you’ll have a whole other set of lips growing off the side of your head. You just can’t trust these all-natural labels.”
“It’s natural, all right. It turns out carmine is derived from insects that qualify as parasites.”
A wailing laugh bubbles from me as I snatch her phone and read the news myself. “On the bright side, it is one hundred percent natural.”
“There’s that.” She takes her phone back and buries it in her purse as a punishment. “So, what’s new with you? Meet or eat any interesting insects lately?”
I can’t help but bite down over my bottom lip. “No, but I met a masked man who has piqued my interest.”
Her mouth falls open. “Do tell.” Sunday leans in, wide-eyed and panting. So I quickly oblige her with all the dirty little details, and I mean little as in next to zilch.
“Serena!” she hisses, her demeanor turning on a dime. “You are not allowed to go back there. Do you hear me? My God, do you hear yourself? This man is clearly a pervert. He’s probably married with six children!”
My eyes close involuntarily as I become sick at the thought. “And sadly, I would have gladly gifted him number seven.”
“Stop!” she gasps at my lack of discretion.
“You stop. You weren’t there. Now look who’s judging who?” I’m quick to scowl at my cousin. “He was… I don’t know—in a strange way, he was perfect.”
“I bet he was perfect. You couldn’t see his face. You said he didn’t say a word. How could he possibly screw that up?”
“By wearing sweats,” I’m quick to inform her. “Besides, I don’t exactly have another prospect on the front burner, and it was fun—it was dangerous.”
“Emphasis on the danger.” Her brows pinch in the middle, a good sign she is clearly pissed. “What if he’s the killer everyone is looking for?”
Now it’s me gasping and writhing in my seat. “Trust me, he is no killer.” Not with those lips. My God, I hope not. “He was…”
“You’re at a loss for words because you don’t know anything about him. Serena, this is lunacy. Promise me you won’t go back to that club, or I’ll be forced to tell Lex.”
I take in a breath so sharp and fast it sounds as if I’ve inhaled a button right off my cardigan. And just as I’m about to contest the idea, I think better of it. Not only do I not want to land my sister in a tizzy, I certainly don’t want to raise Sunday’s blood pressure over something that is clearly none of her knocked-up business.
“Fine.” I reach over and take up her warm, slightly swollen hand. “I won’t go back. I’m sure when the time comes, I’ll meet my Mr. Right. There’s no reason I need to run back to that petri dish of disease and desperation just to please my girl parts.” So I say. I offer a cheesy grin to go along with it.
Her nose twitches at the descriptor. “Good. And you’re right. You’re going to meet someone great, and I predict it will happen very, very soon. You’re a real find. Any guy alive would be lucky to have you. But every guy wants you, so you know what that means? It means you, my fair-feathered friend, get the pick of the litter.”
“Pick of the litter,” I say, lacking the proper enthusiasm. “Why does it sound like I’m about to get a puppy?”
“Better a puppy of good breeding than an old dog from the Anonymous pound.”
“You got me there.” I run my finger over the rim of my coffee, suddenly downcast at the direction this conversation has taken. I was hoping Sunday would share my unbridled enthusiasm, and here she’s stuck a pin in my potentially coital parade. Thoughts of that dimly lit room come rushing back to me. A brief vision of myself lying over one of those round cushioned sofas they had littering the place comes to mind. Me on all fours. The Punisher with the incredibly soft lips straddling me from behind, and I startle back to life. “So the Fourth is coming up. That’s the big day, right? What’s on the agenda?”
“Something small.” She lifts her brows as if schooling me. Deep down, Sunday must know that I would never let anything small fly on her wedding day. “Seth and I were content with city hall, but no thanks to Lex we’re more than happy with the overlook.” She mouths a quick thank you. “But it’s going to be simple. Just a preacher and a few vows. Seth says we should order cupcakes from Sprinkles and have them delivered.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick
them up myself. My treat.” Something small? Simple? Ha! I know for a fact this will be Sunday’s one and only trip down the petal-strewn aisle. Sunday and Seth are lifers. There’s no way I’m letting her get away with something humdrum and forgettable. I’ll make sure to make this a noteworthy event whether or not she approves. It might be her special day, but I’m nice enough not to allow her to ruin it for herself.
Sunday checks her phone and jumps out of her seat, her belly catching on the table in what looked like an uncomfortable bump.
“I gotta run. Seth and I are catching a matinee, then going to dinner with Nolan and Misty.”
“Nolan and Misty?” Nolan is her older brother, and Misty is Seth’s older sister. “Could there be anything more adorable than this sibling-inspired double date? You realize it borders on incestuous.” I can’t help but tease her—and I don’t see me letting up about it anytime soon. It’s far too much fun.
“Oh shush, you.” She leans in for a quick embrace. “You’re just jealous because Seth doesn’t have a hot brother.”
“You got me there.” And I certainly wouldn’t complain.
“Try not to have too much fun.” I make a face. “You just remember you have the most fun with me—outside of Seth and all that magic that goes on in the bedroom.”
Sunday averts her eyes as she speeds off with a wave. “We’ll have fun again soon!” She hits the door and gasps my way as if she just had a horrible epiphany—the did I leave the oven on or did I leave my three-year-old at the mall type of horrible revelation. “And don’t you dare have any fun without me! You stay away from that wicked hovel, or I’ll hunt you down myself.” Her cheeks twitch as she grins. “On second thought, I might just bring your big sister along for the ride.”
Sunday jets out the door, but not before sending a chill up my spine. Lex would have a world-class meltdown if she knew I was cavorting with the coital crowd down in Jepson. It’s not that Jepson is innately bad. It has its ritzy side, too. It’s just that downtown Jepson is known for its free STDs and not-so-esteemed derelict population. It’s not a place my sister would care for me to wander off to—my brother either for that matter.
And just as I’m about to text them both a simple good morning—before the guilt eats me up alive now that I realize I’ve broken every unspoken rule they’ve never given me—than a familiar brunette strides past me, and something about that elf-like nose, those extremely long lashes you could ski off makes me freeze. I know her from somewhere.
That niggling feeling in the back of my mind won’t seem to let go of this one. School? I don’t think so. A touch too old. The Black Bear? I’m familiar with all of my regulars. I’m pretty sure I would remember her a bit clearer if she were one, unless, of course, she’s a one-off. Maybe she’s the one who left the penny upside down at the edge of the table last week? My grandmother used to tell me there was no bigger slight you could afford a waitress. But I doubt it.
She lets out a braying cackle, and I take in a never-ending breath.
It’s her!
I hop to my feet and don’t waste a minute blocking her path to the creamer.
“Hey! Belinda! How are you doing?” I start a touch too friendly, far too bright and sunny for this early in the morning. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
She stares up at me, bewildered, and I’d swear on all that is holy she’s about to body-check me and make a run for it. “Are you in my class?” she practically mouths the words.
“Do you teach at Briggs?” This petite pixie-looking creature suddenly fascinates me. Beautiful as she might be, she has an undeniable otherworldly quality about her. She has that poise and beauty that men would be instantly attracted to. For a second, I envision Shep drooling over her feet, and I instantly like her a little bit less. Shep might have slighted me all those years ago, but that never changed the fact a part of me always claimed him as my own.
“No, not Briggs.” She nods her head toward the door while taking a quick sip of her coffee. “The gym down the street. I was just getting a quick pick-me-up. Nothing beats Hallowed Grounds.” She gives a wistful shake of the head. “I’m a Briggs alum. I should know.”
“Oh, nice.” I’m suddenly warming back up to her. “But that’s actually not where I recognize you from. You were at the bar with your sister—the bitter brides? How is your sister doing anyhow? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Her lids spring like shades. Her mouth rounds out as if I just struck her.
“Hannah? She’s fine.” It comes out curt as if it were a nasty comeback to an equally nasty verbal assault, and for the life of me I don’t know what I missed. A second ago I thought she was going to upsell me on a yoga class and the gym’s gold membership plan, and suddenly she’s spewing piss and vinegar.
“That’s great to hear. Will you be back? At the Black Bear? I was your waitress that night.” I wince because I think we both know what that night entailed. “I mean, it sort of ended on a sour note, but I’d love to see you guys again. You were a ton of fun. And if you do come back, you’ll have to bring the bridal bling. You were amazing. Sort of like dinner theater.”
Dinner theater? Note to self: shut up while you’re ahead.
She gives a stiff shake of the head as if I were suddenly far too boisterous for this fine java establishment. “I don’t think so. Hannah’s moving to Pittsburg.” She hustles her way to the door, and I hustle right alongside her. “She got a job teaching at an elementary school.”
“That’s too bad. I mean, great for her, but I’m not going to lie. Seeing all that primal girl power sort of put a smile on my face.” And second thoughts on my ring finger.
She pushes past me and speeds out into the humid arms of the pending afternoon.
“Say”—I start, trying my best to keep pace with her—“you didn’t happen to see anything suspicious that night, did you?”
“Nope. Not a thing.” She stops abruptly and takes a step back, nearly knocking her coffee into me. “On second thought.” Her impish features rearrange into a smile. “I did see that dark-haired gentleman that was seated next to the victim get up and follow him outside. I think it’s pretty obvious who did it.” She nods my way as if asking me to agree. I know exactly what dark-haired individual she’s referring to. He tried to corner me in the bar the other day, and I expertly ditched him.
“Oh, right. Yeah, the friend. I’m sure the police questioned him already. They did me. Have they questioned you?” Not anything too intimidating, just a few quick questions once they arrived that night. Quite frankly, I was shocked they didn’t take me downtown and shine the white-hot spotlight over me.
She shakes her head, taking another quick sip and wincing as if she burned her tongue. “Not really. From what I heard, the video cut out to the alley. Come to think of it, it sounds like an inside job. It was too convenient for the surveillance camera to cut out like that, don’t you think?” Her eyes bear into mine a moment too long, and I can’t help but feel as if she’s pointing the finger right at me.
“I guess so. Regardless, whoever killed Barry Larson that night got really, really lucky.” I frown at my own words. “But Barry wasn’t lucky, was he?”
She gives a short-lived laugh as she starts to stalk off. “Nope. Never was.”
I give a friendly wave and she does the same, but I caught that little gaffe at the end.
She knew him.
Shepherd
Another week goes by and my time at Briggs seems to be flying. For the most part, my weekly meet-up with my students is a positive event. I’ll admit, it’s a bit of an ego stroke to have dozens of faces looking at you, rapt at attention, eyes wide, mouth open as if every word I breathed were the gospel inspired by God. But there is one student in particular who doesn’t view me as a deity. In fact, she looks at me as if I’m about to gift her a modern version of the Black Plague. Serena. Try as I might to defuse her temper tantrums, it only seems to make them worse. Case in point, the fact she openly gags and looks as if
she’s ready to vomit once I step into the Black Bear.
I can’t help but frown over at her from across the bar as she starts in with the theatrics. But I’m not here to enjoy the show, and I will admit solely to myself that I do get a mild rise in seeing her reaction. Something about the way her lips curl into a tight little ball, her face pinches a bright shade of pink, and that wild fiery red hair of hers only seems to grow to the ceiling at the sight of me. It’s an ego boost in and of itself, and I don’t mean that in any sexual way. Serena’s just a kid.
My stomach tightens at the thought. Okay, so she’s not such a kid anymore, but she’s no woman. A quick wave of heat bites under my arms, and I tick my head back a moment. I’m not really having visceral reactions about Serena, am I?
Crap. It’s definitely time to get laid. There’s no way I need my mind or my balls playing tricks on me about Serena. She’s like family, a little sister. Definitely off the table.
Another wash of heat flashes through me, and I try my best to cast all fornicating thoughts of her to the side as I head on over.
“What’s up, boss?” She slaps a menu onto the table in front of me. “You here for a free meal?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “I don’t need a handout, sweetie. And no, I’m not here for food. I’m here for you.”
Her eyes widen and those brilliant emeralds she sees the world through pin themselves on me, sending that flash of fire pulsing through my body once again. Crap. I can’t help but laugh a little while blinking all thoughts of Serena as a sexual being out of my head. I will get laid tonight even if it’s by my own hand. I get it. The drought must end. But first, I need to deal with the psychotic princess.
“How’s the app going?”
“I’ve given up.” She stalks off toward the bar, and I’m quick to follow.
“You can’t give up. It’s your assignment. Besides, you swore you could do it. What happened to all that girl power rage you were shooting at me a few weeks ago?”
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