Page 61 of Darling Venom
“When’s your lease over?”
“Couple days.”
“You’re not allowed to bring any of your possessions here other than clothes, your typewriter, and laptop.”
I watched Terry stomp out the door, muttering profanity. He slammed it in my face, like a teenager who had just found out he’d been grounded for eternity and beyond. Just like Kellan.
I went upstairs, passing by Kellan’s room. I stopped at the door, took a deep breath, and cracked it an inch.
Terry was right.
The room smelled like death.
The sad mixture of dust and fungus and neglect.
The windows needed to be opened. The sheets changed. A three-inch layer of dirt lived on just about every surface.
I clicked the door shut and proceed to my room.
Maybe next week.
Two weeks after bidding Charlotte Richards goodbye, I walked into a smoothie bar post-workout.
It was pissing rain, the roads were empty and slippery, and ice coated everything around me, heart included. No way in hell I’d hail a cab back home if it meant waiting outside for a minute.
My black leather duffel bag was thrown over my shoulder, and I wore sweatpants, a bomber jacket, and a scowl. I ordered a protein shake and tapped the counter as the scent of sugar cookies and cypress assaulted my nostrils.
It was too sweet.
Too innocent.
Too…
Charlie?
I glanced behind my shoulder at the table by the window.
What were the odds of crossing paths with her? Pretty goddamn good, considering Ralph’s Gym was only two blocks away from her office.
She sat by the window, reading a hardcover and flipping what looked to be a penny between her fingers. She rolled the copper coin across her arm before tossing it in the air again. She licked her thumb, turned a page, then reached for something on the table.
A piece of cake.
Carrot cake.
The memory sucked all other thoughts out of my damn head, and I could see it sharply. Valentine’s Day. Five or six years ago.
Kellan had called in the middle of my shift (three premature births, one C-section complication) and asked me to get him a cake.
“What do you need a cake for?”
“Not with the questions again. Can’t you just do me a solid? I’m broke as hell.”
“Damn straight you are. You’ll get your allowance back when I trust you won’t spend it on drugs.”
“Just buy the damn cake, Tate.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
