Page 65 of Illicit

Make a shit ton of promises to Stella Hayes that I hope I can keep … check.

Get Teagan Coleman to say more than five words to me at the same time?

Nope.

That would be a big, fat fail.

All fucking day.

We’ve been back at her apartment—if you can call it that—for an hour. The moment she unlocked the door, she turned on one of the only electronics in the place, a Bluetooth speaker.

It’s not even a good one. No wonder the thing wasn’t stolen. I bet Robichaux’s people confused it for a large dice.

When I told her this, she corrected me that the singular for dice is die.

I told her that I might die if she doesn’t talk to me soon.

She turned up her lame excuse for a speaker.

The more time I spend with the new Teagan, I realize there were so many other things I could’ve gotten her for graduation other than the pile of damn underwear that she’s no doubt going through daily.

The same underwear I can’t stop thinking about.

I just finished boxing up the small collection of antique poetry books she’s amassed since she’s been at school. And I don’t know that because she told me. I read the inside covers where she wrote the date and place she bought them.

I smack tape on the box, toss the roll to the floor, and turn to the woman I allowed to ignore me for far too long. I’ve decided I’m going to rectify that. She’s not getting the choice to ignore me any longer.

I thought I was doing the best thing for both of us and her family when I pushed her away. But I’m done.

“Since when have you embraced angry-female music?”

She stops what she’s doing in the kitchen and glares at me. “Read the room, Rocco.”

“Four words in a row. You haven’t done that for at least two hours.”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to her box.

I grab a duffle lying on the floor and start to go through the dresser that normal people would put a TV on. One more thing I could’ve gotten her for graduation.

I pull out the first drawer and freeze. It’s a sea of silk and lace.

I grab a handful and hold it up to her. “You’re telling me I could’ve bought you a real speaker system or a TV, but you wanted a cart full of underwear when you have all these? Do you have a penchant for these things, or what?”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Put those down.”

Well, lookie there. Three more words. She’s talking to me. “No.”

“Dammit, Rocco. Can’t you just pack the shit that’s already on the floor?”

I roll her panties around in my hand and enjoy the feel of the lace on my skin. “No. I want to pack your panties.”

She puts her hands up, palms out. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. Pack what you want. I’m tired. When you’re done with those, my tampons are under the sink in the bathroom. Have at it.”

I open the duffle and start to drop them in one by one. “Very colorful, Teag. Pink, blue, yellow… It’s like my own easter basket of panties. Remember when Annette used to make us dye eggs? Hell, she’d make me come back every Easter when I was in college. I’d never once touched an easter egg before I moved in with your family. Dying eggs was for people on TV. I had no idea everyone in the world did it but my fucked-up family.”

She throws shit in a box with more force than necessary.

“Careful over there, angsty girl,” I say, as I inspect every piece of lace before I drop it in their new home to travel south. “The music is getting to you.”

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