Page 11 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
“Don’t let Ella hear you say that,” she said, though I could tell she’d loosened already.
“I was talking about Bailey,” I said, referring to Allie’s daughter.
“She’s fine. She learned the Hulk smash. The cat is not happy.”
“You let her watch The Hulk?”
“Nah, I think she learned it from a boy in school.”
I tsked. “Goddamn boys in school. They’re a nuisance.”
“Tell me about it. I think Colin’s going to have an aneurysm when she hits middle school. And the situation with Ella isn’t helping any.”
“Her name’s Claire,” I said absently.
“Oh yeah? So she’s talking to you.”
“A little bit. But I need my best girl on hand for tonight. Emotional support.”
“You need emotional support?” Begrudging curiosity laced her words. “This I’ve got to see.”
“Don’t sound so eager to see me fall, you bloodthirsty bitch.”
“I don’t want to see you fall, but if you tripped every once in a while, I might believe you were human like the rest of us. As long as I’m around, I’ll catch you.”
Pretty sentiment, but she wouldn’t be around on Saturday.
“Come over tonight,” I demanded. “Girls’ night in. Poor thing has been cooped up here for days with only Adrian for a friend.”
“Poor thing,” Allie said and meant it. She had never been partial to his formal charms.
I waited in the kitchen for
her to arrive, poking at the contents of the fridge. Plenty of fruit, seedless grapes and chocolate-covered strawberries. Various spritzers and organic colas. Some homemade chicken salad in a Tupperware container. A far cry from fuzzy tacos.
“Need anything?”
I jumped and turned to see Adrian standing behind me. “You surprised me.”
“Sorry,” he said, contrite. “I forget sometimes.”
“Forget what?”
His smile was wry. “That this isn’t my room.”
I looked around the kitchen. It was more his room than anyone else’s. “It’s yours,” I said. “I just feel comfortable enough with you to invade your space.”
“Invade away. Are you hungry? I can make you something. I was about to get dinner started.”
“Let me make something for you,” I said on impulse.
“You can cook?” He sounded doubtful.
“I have lived alone for many years now. Surely you didn’t think I subsist solely on the fruits of my illicit labor.”
His face screwed up in disapproval. “I figured you subsisted on prepared foods from the grocery store with a frequent helping of takeout.”
Bingo. And men had called me mysterious. Ha! I was an open book. “Look, just let me give it a shot. There’s plenty of food in here. And you’ve cooked for me so many times. I want to return the favor.”
