by Gina LaManna
“Yeah, I suppose. But just know it’s out of respect for Carlos I’m covering up, and not because I’m ashamed of my body. I like to show off this figure to the world.” Meg posed in a Baywatch sort of position, and I shielded my eyes.
Almost immediately, a loud crash resounded behind me. I whipped around, thankful for the distraction.
“Oh, hey, Clay – Clay? Are you okay?” I took a few steps over to where my cousin was, his body sprawled against the doorframe and his eyes glued shut. His face grew redder by the second and his jaw hung slack. A squeak came from his mouth, similar in pitch to a strangled mouse.
Meg, however, merely winked and took a bow, blowing him a kiss, as Clay gingerly stepped backwards. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
“It’ll be okay.” I patted Clay lightly on the back. The poor guy was probably still in shock – it’d been awhile since he’d seen a girl in any form of undress, let alone a girl with the “confidence” of Meg. “Take a deep breath.”
Clay nodded and backed silently out of the room, his movements rigid. My cousin’s ability to function under normal social settings was average at best. Throw in a halfway naked girl in a Babe Watch pose, and his ability to interact with humans decreased to zilch.
A perfectly normal-looking guy, Clay had the slightly translucent sheen to his skin that went along with being a savant in the computer industry. His hair was black and shaggy and hung over the side of his face when he needed a haircut. A big guy and a bit soft around the waist, he was an awesome hugger when in the mood, which was seldom.
Our grandmother worried about his dating life, but I tried to stay out of it as much as possible. In return for my support, Clay helped me scrounge up information for my Family assignments.
I grabbed Clay’s arm and ushered him from Meg’s presence to his “safe place” on the couch, where he could zone out amidst eight glowing monitors, four computer towers, and seven keyboards. I even gave him my favorite pink bowl and filled it with half a bag of popcorn. The other half of the bag was currently unavailable. In unrelated news, my stomach became slightly less growly.
When I returned to my bedroom, Meg looked up.
“Nice work, Lacey,” Meg said. “You know how to handle people. That’s why you’re good at your job.”
“My job. Right,” I said, thinking that job was a stretch. The word job implied a 401k, benefits, and a nine-to-five, all of which didn’t come standard when working for my Family.
“Yeah, you’re better at being a mobsterista than a stripper. Something about those Sugary Senses you got. Plus, you failed at being a stripper.”
“Yes, thank you. Thanks for bringing that up.”
“But that mother of yours, now she on the other hand...” Meg shook her head in blatant admiration. Seeing my terse gaze, she recovered quickly. “May God rest her soul – she was one heck of a stripper.”
“Yes, she was beautiful,” I said with a sigh.
Beautiful, however, was an understatement. My mother had been gorgeous, where I was much more...average. Despite my inability to follow in my mother’s sequined footsteps, my body was decent, my hair golden on a good day (kind of brownish-blond, technically), and I managed to fit into a respectably-sized pair of jeans, if I laid off the brownies for two days prior to any event requiring the use of actual pants. In fact, I hate pants. I hate jeans. I hate fabric meant to constrict the free-flowing nature of my thighs.
“Ok, is this better?” Meg emerged from the closet.
I’d expected her to come out dressed in some sort of flashy, fancy cover-up that cost too much money for too little fabric. But I was in for a surprise.
Turning to face me, Meg pouted. “I think it cramps my style, but at least it’ll cover up some skin while we’re at Carlos’s place.”
“What is that?” I squinted in her general direction.
“It’s my cover-up!”
“Isn’t it supposed to cover you up?” I blinked. She’d draped herself in what looked like a raincoat made out of plastic wrap.
“Technically, it covers me up,” Meg said. “It just doesn’t obstruct the view.”
“Oh, no,” I murmured.
“Yeah, you’re right. I look better without it.”
I plastered a smile on my face. “How about you just wait in the car? Shirts and shoes are required at Carlos’s house.”
“Now that’s just unreasonable,” she said. “I’m all about following the rules if they’re a teensy bit reasonable, but that’s just nuts.”
I grabbed my small purse and easy-to-carry backpack. I headed out of my room, expecting Meg to follow closely behind.
“Meg, that’s not true. You don’t like rules at all,” I pointed out. “Which is probably why you got kicked off the police force. You can’t punch people for calling you names and ‘borrow’ guns out of the evidence locker.”
When there was no response, I turned around. I’d reached the front door to my saggy, lopsided apartment, but I’d lost Meg somewhere along the way. I huffed back to my bedroom and found Meg grunting, trying unsuccessfully to haul two bags the size of small aircraft through the door.
Meg gave a huge roar and a tug, moving the suitcases no more than an inch. The effort landed her flat on her rear end. “About rule breaking,” she said, breathing heavily. “If a criminal calls me fat, don’t I got the right to protect myself? Plus, nobody was using those guns I borrowed. They were just sitting in a locker getting all moldy.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think guns get rusty instead of moldy. But don’t quote me on that, since I don’t have one. Anyway, I think all your luggage is overkill. We’ll only be gone for a few days.”
“It’s definitely not overkill. I need everything I packed,” Meg said. “I brought a party.”
I groaned. Meg’s idea of a good time was often quite different than mine.
“Clay, can you come in here?” I hollered. “Meg, please throw on a sweatshirt or something. Else the man won’t be able to concentrate.”
“I often have that effect on men,” Meg sniffed, turning up her nose. “But for Clay, I guess.”
She gave a guttural sigh and leaned over my bed, ripping the comforter from its resting place and wrapping it around her body.
“Thank you, Babe Watch,” I said. “Clay, it’s safe to come in here now.”
There was another gigantic crash just outside my bedroom door. A moment later, Clay toppled into the room wearing extremely dark sunglasses strapped across his face.
“Is she clothed?” he gestured vaguely towards the center of the room. Based on his wobbly movements and broad gestures, I doubted he could see a thing.
“You can’t see us at all, can you?” I asked.
“Nope. I made these glasses special,” Clay said. “They’re supposed to be Spy Shades.”
“Supposed to be?” Meg asked. “Can I try?”
Clay protectively pressed the glasses even tighter to his face. “I screwed this pair up on accident. The lenses are supposed to be partially reflective so I can see if anyone’s standing behind me – however, this pair turned out entirely reflective. Basically, the lenses are mirrors.”
“So right now you’re staring at your own eyeballs?” Meg asked.
Clay bumped into my bed as he strode around the room, stumbling as if drunk. “I can’t see a single thing except myself,” he said happily.
“You can take off the blinders. Meg is all covered up,” I said. “Will you please help us with the suitcases?”
Clay raised his glasses cautiously and peeked underneath the rims. After verifying for himself that Meg was safely wrapped in my blanket, he pushed his invention on top of his head.
“Do you like what you see?” Meg asked, doing a little shimmy.
Clay ignored her, glancing at the suitcases. He gave a firm shake of his head. “Oh, boy. I can’t help with those.”
“Why not? Aren’t you a big, strong guy?” Meg asked flirtatiously. She leaned forward and pouted her lips, but her co
vering popped right off and Clay nearly fell over.
Reaching towards his head, he wildly flipped his sunglasses back down.
Meg frowned. I walked over and helped her bundle back up in the comforter, while I tsked in Clay’s direction.
“What?” Clay rubbed his right arm. “I sprained my wrist the other day at the gym, and it’s still tender.”
“That happened like, six weeks ago,” I said. “Dr. Gambino wouldn’t even prescribe you a brace. He said it was too minor to treat.”
“But it’s my mouse hand,” Clay said, a bit defensively. “How am I supposed to right click with a sprained wrist? I’m not moving those elephant-sized suitcases.”
Clay turned on his heel, heading in the direction of the hallway. He smacked noggin-first into the doorframe on the way out, and the entire floor shook a bit. He flicked his sunglasses back on his head and stomped out.
I sighed. “I have an idea for next steps. Wait here a second.”
“Ringing your new boyfriend?” Meg catcalled.
“Just keep the comforter on for now,” I said, reaching for my phone. “We can’t afford any more delays.”
Meg grunted as I dialed.
“Are you back from Carlos’s errand?” I asked. My voice sounded hopeful as Anthony picked up the phone. “And if so, could you please, please, please come save me? I need help. I’m in danger.” It was clear from the even tone of my voice that I was far from frightened. I suspected I sounded more monotone than anything.
“Where are you?” Anthony’s voice rumbled. “I’m headed back into town now.”
“At my apartment.”
“Are you being held by gunpoint?”
I looked to where Meg was thumbing through a magazine on my bed, the comforter in a pile at her feet. “Kind of.”
Silence engulfed the line.
“There are guns on full display,” I added, unhelpfully.
“Are they real?”
“Come over here and see for yourself. I think she’ll even let you touch ’em,” I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. Something about being surrounded by my best friend, living with my favorite cousin, and talking to my boyfriend all at once put me in a sunny mood.
“Are we still talking about guns?” Anthony asked, the skepticism in his voice heavy.
“If you want to be.” I shrugged. “Please stop by? We’re on our way out of town, and I’d love to see you before we go.”
Anthony sighed. “If the crime is indecent exposure from anyone but yourself, I will not be happy.”
“Oh,” I started, but the line had already disconnected. I sometimes suspected Anthony could read minds, and this was one of those times.
I looked over to the bed where my best friend grimaced at one of the photos in the magazine. The image of her lying there suddenly reminded me of our younger days. The times when we’d done absolutely everything together. We’d eaten each other’s food, read each other’s books, and even bathed together while our moms took turns working their respective night shifts. We’d been a team from day one, and I couldn’t be happier to have her as my sidekick.
Except right now, I couldn’t quite muster the guts to lie next to Meg on the bed in her current attire. There was too much potential for parts of my body to come into contact with parts of her body that should never touch.
Instead, I lay on the floor and painted my nails while Meg read me the “Top Ten” list of foods that, according to Cosmo, burn butt fat, boost nail growth, and make my hair shinier all in one go, while we waited for Anthony to arrive.
Chapter 2
“SHOW ME THE GUNS.” Anthony stepped into my apartment, somehow bypassing the seven different locks I’d fastened tightly only five minutes before. Anthony had quite a way with getting places he wanted to go, even if they were off limits. Recent examples of such places included locked doors and underneath my shirt.
“In here,” I shouted, blowing on the top coat of polish to make sure it was dry.
Anthony strode into my open bedroom door like he owned the place. Then again, Anthony belonged everywhere.
He was well over six feet tall and a firm wall of man – his muscles woven together like an intricate puzzle. His broad chest strained at the seams of his signature black spandex shirt as he moved across the room. I could count the abs on his narrow waist as he approached, and I wondered how he managed to look understated and elegant all at once.
I caught his eye, surprised to see his face paling rapidly. He normally kept up a healthy Mediterranean tan, but at the moment, he looked closer to Clay’s skin hue than his own. Though he’d locked mobsters in trunks and disassembled bombs, he now stood in my bedroom looking as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Oh hey,” Meg said, looking up. She flexed her foot and flipped a page in her magazine.
Dang, that girl was something else. Her confidence wasn’t the least bit impacted by Anthony’s presence, whereas my confidence levels took a dive whenever the man stepped into the same room as me – even when I had all my clothes in place.
“What seems to be the life-threatening issue here?” Anthony cleared his throat and directed his gaze towards me.
“I missed you?” I squeaked.
Most times I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I knew that when his eyes melted from bitter espresso to creamy cappuccino, he was thinking about how he could get a hand under my shirt. I knew that when his eyes glittered black, he was focused on business and business alone. I knew that when his eyes were the shade of a frothy latte, he was in a good mood, which was very, very rare. But anger, amusement, frustration, and curiosity all looked pretty much the same to me.
“Mm-hmm,” Anthony murmured. “And what else?”
“Well, we do have a problem.” I stood up and nudged Meg’s suitcases with my toe. My recently painted toenail, to be exact. “Oh, crapola.”
I knelt down and licked my thumb, quickly swiping away a streak of red nail polish from the camouflage green suitcase. It didn’t work, and the devil-red paint smeared even more.
“You best not be getting nail goop on my knockoff Gucci travel cases.” Meg eyed me over her magazine.
“False alarm, Meg. No polish.” I stood up and gave Anthony my best please don’t tell face.
Anthony grunted. “Let me guess – you called me over here to be your bell boy?”
“You’re a very attractive bell boy,” I wheedled. At Anthony’s unamused face, I tried again. “Can you please help? We can’t physically lift them, and Clay sprained his wrist.”
“Clay was at the gym this morning.” Anthony crossed his arms.
“Yeah, doing the elliptical with his legs,” I said. “He’s still babying the wrist sprain from six weeks ago. He’s probably concerned that if he injures it more, he and Horatio won’t be able to continue doing...well, whatever it is they do online.”
“Come on, buddy,” Meg said. “You heard your girlfriend. Luggage duties come with the new relationship territory. Welcome to being a boyfriend.”
“You told her?” Anthony looked over at me. “Already?”
I shrugged. “I had to tell someone.”
“She tells me everything,” Meg said. “I can’t wait to hear the nitty gritty details of your first late night encounter.”
“What does she mean by late night encounter?” Anthony’s voice became dangerously soft.
“Eating ice cream,” I said. “Popping popcorn, roasting s’mores, and watching a movie. Cuddling under a blanket.”
“You’re lying.” Anthony took one step further into the room, his focus landing on me. “I know when you’re lying.”
“Mmm,” I paused, distracted as one of Anthony’s arms encircled my waist. “You’re mighty talented.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow, before breaking into a grin and shaking his head. Leaning in, he kissed me on the forehead. “What if I don’t want to move these suitcases?”
“Then I’ll mace you,” Meg said. “I just got a new can I adopted from an ol
d friend.”
“Please don’t do that,” I said. “I’d like my best friend and my boyfriend to get along.”
“I wasn’t gonna,” Meg whispered loudly. “It was an empty threat. You ruined it, Lacey.”
“You know, the main reason I don’t want to move these bags down to the car for you is because that means you’re leaving me for a few days,” Anthony said, his dark eyes catching me in their gaze. He swiftly took in my traveling attire, but thankfully didn’t seem put off by my stretchy pants and yoga-style tank top. “And I don’t like the idea of that. So, I think I’d prefer those bags stay right where they’re at.”
“Girl, he wants you,” Meg murmured under her breath.
“Meg, stop.” I heard an embarrassing hitch in my voice, a shade of breathlessness I wished I could cover up.
“Don’t be all changing who you are just because you’ve got a boyfriend,” Meg said. “Don’t be choosing him over me!”
“Meg, he and I have been dating for less than a week. Give me a break,” I said. “Plus, you and me, we’re going away together for the next few days. A romantic girlfriend getaway.”
“That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Anthony muttered.
“No, quite the contrary,” I said. “It’ll be laid back. Super easy-going. Just hanging around, eating s’mores, drinking wine.”
“We’ll be having plenty of girl chat, too,” Meg said. “Reading Cosmo, talking about our ovaries, combing each other’s hair. Wanna come?”
“Fine, I’ll help with the suitcases,” Anthony growled. But before reaching for the bags, he wrapped his hand around the nape of my neck and drew me in close. “But come back to me in one piece, you hear me, sugar?”
“I hear you,” Meg piped in. “Loud and clear.”
“Meg!” Anthony and I said it together.
“Just being a proper third wheel over here,” she said. “Trying to contribute.”
I gave Anthony a pleading look. “How about we have a date night when we come back, just you and me?”
“I like the sound of that,” he said, his eyes starting to melt into a cappuccino color. If only Meg weren’t lying in my bed, dressed in nothing but a...well, nothing at all.