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“Maybe not.” An all-knowing glimmer I don’t approve of reaches my mom’s glare. “But perhaps she’s not worried about the what you may take away from her so much so as the who.”
Chapter 7
Brynley
“You’re such a basic bitch,” I impishly criticize at the same time I reach over to the oblong shaped coffee table for another slice of pizza. “I mean pepperoni and sausage? My hypochondriac roommate back in college was more adventurous than that.”
“Have you ever considered your pizza may be too adventurous?”
“I didn’t hear Lucky complaining about having to make it.” Dropping one onto my plate is quickly followed by adding another. “Come to think of it…he sounded excited.” Locking eyes with J.T. occurs after my back hits the dark blue fabric pillow. “Like he was tired of making basic bitch pizza all the time.”
“Your pizza’s not even real pizza!” He squawks between bites. “It doesn’t even have sauce!”
“The olive oil is basically the sauce.”
“No, marinara is the sauce that belongs on pizza. I’ve literally had pizza all around the world. I would know.”
“Yet you’ve never had pepperoni, mozzarella, jalapeños, and pineapple on it before, so really…” the tip of one triangle is angled towards my lips, “would you know?”
He gags the instant I have a bite, inspiring me to snicker more.
I like hanging out with him.
I like making him squirm more.
It’s fun.
And easy.
So. Easy.
“That’s disgusting,” he gripes, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin rather than his steel blue dress pants.
“It’s amazing.”
“It’s a crime.”
“Excuse you,” sassily precedes another playful beam. “The guest is always right.”
“Customer.”
“Same shit, Puppet Boy.”
“Different shit.” J.T. grabs his nearby vibrating cell. “And what did I say about calling me Puppet Boy?”
There’s no stopping me juvenilely joking, “Keep doing it?”
He grunts his disapproval in my direction yet keeps his attention on his device.
I divert my gaze to where Chris Pine is occupying the screen doing my best not to prod about the person on the other end of the phone.
Interestingly enough, since my mom’s been awake, I haven’t heard much from the goblin shark.
He even gets his briefings about her from Hamilton separately.
Sure, I’m spending most of my time with my mom, napping in the chair while she’s napping in her bed, muscling through Greys Anatomy episodes because of her unshakeable addiction to med dramas, and getting my ass kicked at card games – the woman cheats I just can’t prove it – meaning there’s no real rhyme or reason for our paths to cross but still.
You’d think having a visitor on his property – the thing everyone keeps claiming he never has – would warrant at least a couple of check-ins.
