Page 25 of Moto
I follow him into the kitchen. The house is nothing extravagant, and honestly, it could use a woman’s touch. Lots of dark furniture and leather, sparse decoration, and way too many electronics. But the walls are painted a warm shade of beige, and natural light pours in through the morning room off the kitchen.
“Bathroom,” he points at a door we passed in the hallway; “kitchen,” he turns as if to sayobviously; “family room,” which is to my right; and, “dining room,” he points to the left, where Reese is brooding in the hospital bed Dev had set up for him.
“How is the patient?” I ask.
Dev rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “A ray of fucking sunshine like always.”
“That good, huh?”
“It’s Sunday.” He sighs.
“So what?” I question.
“Race day.”
“And that means what?”
“It means Reese is reminded he’s here, in hell, instead of where he wants to be.”
“On the track?” I guess.
“Exactly.”
“Which means he’s an extra bright ray of fucking sunshine,” I conclude.
“Bingo.”
“Wonderful.”
“You know I can hear you.” Reese sourly reminds us of his presence.
“Oh, I know.” Dev crosses his arms and leans slightly so he can see Reese through the doorway.
“You have my number if you need anything,” Dev addresses me as he makes his way to the hall closet. He slips on a pair of badass Nike Airs and grabs his motorcycle helmet in record time. It’s a jet-black orb with neon green markings. “Feel free to overuse it. I’ve been told I have exceptional sexting skills.” He smiles cockily.
“I’ll keep that in mind in case I get bored.” I shake my head. Never going to happen. No one with the last name of Dane is invading my bubble.
“Suit yourself. Try not to smother him while I’m gone.”
“I’ll do my best, but no promises.”
Dev chuckles. “Good thing I live in the middle of nowhere. There are plenty of places to hide the body.”
“Do you think you two are funny?” Reese chimes in.
“Hilarious.” I grin over at him. He shoots me a death glare. Today is going to be so much fun. I wonder where Dev keeps the alcohol.
“Oh!” Dev snaps, making his way into the dining room, and I promptly follow.
“Here.” He pulls out a bottle of prescription pills from his pocket and tosses them at Reese.
“What are those?” I ask.
Both Dev and Reese’s faces go blank. They really are exact replicas. Strong rectangular jaw lines, straight noses, and bright-blue, -almond-shaped eyes.
“Extra pain meds.”
“Do you want me to hold onto them? I can monitor how many you take. Do you still have a high level of pain?” I rattle off the routine questions.
