Page 109 of Rebellious

“You do. I don’t,” she said primly.

Gripping the neck of the wine bottle and resting it on his thigh, he leaned his head against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Peel the armrest cover back. Press the middle button. Choose a station from there.” He should’ve known she’d find Opera music. “What is it with you and fucking Opera?”

“It’s so tragically beautiful.”

Like she was. “Find an instrumental classical station as a compromise. I can’t fucking stand Opera.”

“Okay,” she said meekly, and complied with his order. “I don’t know how I’m going to walk home,” she said once she was satisfied with the music. Still hideous, but tolerable.

“I don’t fucking know how the fuck I’m getting upstairs,” he responded. “Maybe that’s fucking good. What’s up there for me but memories of my wife?”

Kendall finished her bottle of wine. “Same for me in my room.”

Mortician frowned. “You think about Bailey in your room?” he asked, sounding like a drunken, high motherfucker for some reason.

Kendall screamed with laughter. “No, silly! I mean like memories of Johnnie, a happier time, for me in my room.”

He guffawed. “You think I’m faded?”

“Uh-huh. As faded as I am.”

“I don’t want Italian tonight,” Mort admitted. “How about we get to the kitchen and cook breakfast?”

At that hour, breakfast was perfect.

“Will I have to walk there?”

“Probably,” Mort said after a moment’s consideration. “Unless you got wings to fly, Red?”

Standing, Kendall swayed, fell back on the sofa, chortled, then stood again. She hiccupped and took her top off, revealing a lacy black bra. Brushing her hair over one shoulder, she turned.

“Do I got wings?” She laughed again, so hard she stomped her foot and clapped her hands. “Oh my God! Axel has invaded me.”

Mort finished his wine, chuckling right along with her. “If anybody can do it, it’s that little motherfucker.”

Giggling, she plopped next to him and nudged her head against his arm. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Guess what, Mort?”

“What, Kendall?”

“My top is off.”

Leaning back, he dropped his gaze to the magnificent mounds of her tits. “How’d it get off?”

“The wings took it. Remember?”

Mort thought for a moment. “Where they went? You said you didn’t have any.”

She punched her chest. “I don’t have any.”

“Oh.” He set his empty wine bottle on the coffee table. “Other motherfuckers got them.”

“Yep.”

“You need to eat,” he told her, not quite remembering why. He was so used to taking care of her that he just knew he should tell her that. “What do you want me to cook you?”

“Lobster bolognese.”