Page 35

“About five miles. Just up Grand Avenue. A straight shot.”

“It’ll take you an hour just to walk there.” Striding back into the bedroom, I nab a fifty from my wallet and return to where she’s still standing outside the door. “For a cab.”

Brows furrowed, she stares down at the cash, and when her eyes find me again, they carry sadness, more than anything else. “Never mind. Thanks, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem is, that I decided to cut loose a little bit last night. Which is a first for me. But see, fate doesn’t like when I do anything outside of busting my ass, so now I’m having to figure my shit out the next day.” With a huff, she shakes her head. “It’s not your problem, and I’m thoroughly embarrassed for having asked you. I’m sorry, you must think I’m some crazy helicopter landlord.”

“I’m starting to wonder.”

Her lips crack with a slight smirk, as her eyes shy away from mine. “Thanks for the offer. The cab. But it’s not that far. Have a … good day.”

“Why don’t you do yourself a favor and take the cash? It’ll save you some time.”

“Really, I’ll just walk. I probably need to walk off this hangover, anyway. Thanks, though.” Backing away from the door, she shuffles back down the stairs and off toward the sidewalk, like she’s really going to make that five-mile hike to get her car.

Stubborn as fuck.

And the intrigue just keeps on with this girl.

It takes me about twenty-five minutes to get dressed and feed a small bit of tuna to the kitten I’ve named Vince. By the time I catch up with Nola, she’s already a couple miles down Grand Avenue, and I slow my car along the curb, rolling the window down.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.”

She glances toward me for a second. “I told you, I can walk. It’s no big deal.”

“Quit being stubborn. I don’t have time for stubborn. Just get in the car.”

“I know that. You don’t have time. It’s okay. Look, I wasn’t putting this on you. Really, I wasn’t.”

“I get your MO. You don’t ask for help. You asked me, and that was probably a big deal for you, so get in. I’m driving you.” I stop the car alongside her. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Oh, yeah? What’ll you do, instead? Chase me down and drag me into the car?”

“If absolutely necessary, yes.”

“Fine.” She rolls her shoulders back like she’s brushing off her pride, then throws back the passenger door and slumps into the seat beside me. The way she mulishly crosses her arms beneath her breasts pushes them up toward the low dip of her flannel shirt.

I take off down the street, shaking my head. “I can’t tell if you’re brilliantly manipulative, or just pig-headed to a fault.”

“Well, I’m still getting a feel for whether, or not, you’re a closet serial killer, so I guess we’re even.”

“Did you call Jackson yet?”

“No. I was too busy dealing with a hangover and asking you for a ride. Both of which have only made my headache worse.” She clutches her skull, sadly covering up the cleavage from a moment ago. “I haven’t had a hangover since before Oliver was born.”

“Bloody Mary. Make sure you get the good vodka. Not the cheap shit.”

“I can’t do Bloody Mary’s. For one, they’re gross. And … well, they’re just gross.”

“So, how did you get home last night? Drunken stumble of shame?”

“Someone offered to drive me. Which had me all believing in the goodwill of men when I woke up this morning. Must’ve still been drunk to ask you for help.”

“And this Good Samaritan is a friend of yours?”

“He’s been coming into the diner for a while. All the waitresses know him.”