Page 74 of Without a Hitch
Monty stands guard just like he always does. He’s an older gentleman who sits on his perch at the top of the stairs, leaning against the building. Most of the time, he’s napping under his downturned hat, but today, his smile is bright.
“Welcome home, Miss Tilly. How are you today?”
I soften my voice for his benefit even as I frantically try to remove my palm from Lochlan’s grasp. “I’m good, Monty. How are you?”
“Can’t complain, Miss Tilly. Can’t complain at all. Your girls all went charging in about twenty minutes ago. Looks like you’re the last to arrive,” he offers helpfully.
A low groan escapes no matter how hard I try to hold it in.
“Problem?” Lochlan asks like he doesn’t know they all ran home in the hopes of catching me before we left for California.
“Not for me,” I mutter. “They might tear you apart though. Last chance to wait in the car.”
He doesn’t take the bait. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
“Of course you can’t,” I grumble as we push through the double doors and into the atrium.
He glances around but doesn’t slow his pace as he marches us toward the elevators. The doors slide open before he can press the call button, and Mable lets out a low whistle.
“Monty said he was a looker, but this is next level, Titty. Next. Level,” she wheezes.
“Geez, Mable. Seriously? You’re not even dressed. What are you doing in the elevator?”
“Monty called when you pulled up. I had to check this one out for myself.” She narrows her already squinty eyes on Lochlan. “So,” she says, crossing her arms as we enter the small space. “You can deliver on the orgasms. I’ll give ya that. I didn’t think Titty would walk straight for a week after New York, but…”
“Mable!” I screech. “What are you doing?”
My words don’t even distract her. She just holds up a finger and shushes me. “What kind of game are you playing at here?”
My mouth snaps shut. Mable sounds…pissed. On my behalf. Obviously, she was listening when I called Hadley earlier. She was the only one home at the time, but she listened patiently when I gave her the run down and told her it was a “code Polly.”
Code Polly is our version of a disaster warning. It started a few years ago when Delaney babysat for a neighbor and didn’t realize the children had filled her pocket with Polly Pockets. Those little fuckers melted all over our dryer, caused a small fire, and ruined her favorite pink jumpsuit.
Lochlan is unfazed by the bathrobe-wearing older woman with a leathery face and a smoker’s cough invading his space. He squeezes my hand and flashes her a pleasant smile. “I just want to get to know Tilly. She wasn’t going to give me the time of day unless I got creative, so I came up with a mutually beneficial, er, arrangement.” He falters only briefly and is saved when the elevator lurches to a stop.
Mable waves her hands dramatically but follows us out of the car and into the hallway. “Sex tapes?”
“Are you asking if I have one or if I watch them?” he replies as if this is an everyday question.
“Both,” Mable blurts as I usher him into my apartment. She moves quicker than I anticipate and slips inside with us.
“I do not have a sex tape, but I have watched a few,” he admits with absolutely no remorse.
A loud squeak comes from the family room, and I know our audience just got a lot bigger. That was Delaney’s uncomfortable sound.
“Ever made one?”
“Jesus, Mable. Enough with the sex tapes,” I hiss as we round the corner to find Eli grinning. Delaney is so red you’d think she got locked in a tanning bed, and Hadley is perched halfway to the couch like she can’t decide if she’ll sit or stand.
“I haven’t made a sex tape,” he replies mildly.
“Any STDs?”
Hadley drops into the couch with a woosh.
“Not at the moment,” he says, glancing around.
“But you’ve had one?” Mable pushes.
