Page 47 of Queen of Ruin

“I got caught peeing on a tree,” Alistair explains sheepishly.

“That’s it?” Darren protests.

“Do you know how many times a day I pee on a tree?” Burke mumbles between bites of his pie.

“You’re a police officer,” Alistair frets, appalled.

“I’m in a patrol car all day. What do you want me to do?” Burke asks, shrugging.

“Pee at a goddamn gas station like a civilized person,” Alistair bemoans.

“Have you seen how dirty those are?” Burke levels him with a stare.

“So you got arrested for peeing on a tree?” I speculate, disappointed.

“Well, that’s not all of it,” he admits a little bashfully. “When he pointed the flashlight at me, I got startled.”

“Please do not tell me what I think you’re going to tell me,” Darren laughs, shaking his head.

“I turned real fast.” Alistair looks between Darren and Burke. “You know how it is. Once you start, you can’t stop.”

“I’m not following,” Maria interjects, innocently.

“I peed on a police officer, okay?”

18

THIS ISN’T A MOVIE

EVANGELINE

Morning light filters into the bedroom from the patio doors because someone forgot to close the blinds. I groan and rest my forearm over my head, and then drop my arm to the side feeling nothing but rumpled sheets and mattress. Flipping over on my side, I realize Darren’s not here and I run my fingers over his side of the bed.

I was used to sleeping alone in Georgetown up until recently, and I wonder when I began to get used to this, used to the feel of someone’s body next to me, a body to curl against and share heat with… Darren’s body. I hear noise from the kitchen and grab my long underwear from the chair before stepping out into the hallway to discover Darren in the kitchen. He’s flipping pancakes, and the smell of bacon causes my stomach to grumble.

“Where were these skills yesterday?” I ask while he slides a pancake from the pan and onto a plate.

“Ask that after you take a bite,” he teases, holding out a forkful that he just dipped into syrup.

I take a skeptical bite, trusting the syrup will cover up anything horrible.

“It’s not the best pancake I’ve ever had, but I’m not wanting to spit it out either,” I heckle.

“I worked really hard on this.” He drops the spatula and turns off the burner.

I walk into his chest as he wraps his arms around me. “I said I didn’t want to spit it out.” I look up at him with a smile while I rest my chin on his chest.

He smiles down at me with his wolfish grin.

“Have you seen Cleo or Alistair yet?”

“Nope, but these ceilings are too high to hit with the end of a broomstick to wake them,” Darren laughs.

“I’ll go wake up Cleo,” I announce, but my hands remain on Darren’s shoulders and I don’t move. Instead, I stare at his face, a face I once looked at with disdain. All I see is him, the boy that lost his parents, the self-described degenerate son of a U.S. Senator who arranged for my only friend in the world to be with me on Thanksgiving.

I love that he did that – I love…

He smiles, his cheeks pulling up into his eyes, the dimples more prominent now that he’d shaved yesterday, and I run my fingers over them.

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