Page 59 of Personal Foul

It feels good.

Besides, he started it by calling me Spitfire. It’s weird that he even feels compelled to give me a nickname. It’s like since he’s given up calling me Chastity, he has to call me something else, as long as it’s not my name.

Squinting, I swallow another bite of omelette. “What’s your deal with nicknames anyway?”

That has him lifting his head, surprised. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

I wave my fork in his general direction. “Are you allergic to my given name? I know it’s a biblical virtue, and you’re obviously not big on those, but it’s still my name.”

He laughs, then chokes on his food. Coughing, he sets his plate on the coffee table, hitting his chest with one fisted hand, his eyes watering. “Eating with you is dangerous,” he says in a hoarse voice after a moment.

With a shrug of one shoulder, I offer him a smile. “Sorry?”

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not. That’s okay, though. It’s more entertaining this way.”

“Right. So back to you and nicknames. Is it everyone that you feel the need to nickname, or am I special in some way?”

Picking up his plate, he sits back on the couch, his face thoughtful. “I’d venture to say that you are special.” He says it so quietly, I’m almost not sure if I’m supposed to hear him. “But no, I give out nicknames with a certain amount of frequency. Not to everyone, and only when it makes sense.” He meets my eyes, his twinkling with mirth. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that your name is a biblical virtue or my opinion of those. Chastity is also a virtue, and I called you that for a while.”

“True,” I mutter. I guess that is a point. “Still, it seems like you have a problem with my actual name.”

He screws up his mouth and tilts his head to one side. “I wouldn’t say I have aproblemwith it.”

“But …” I prompt.

He shrugs. “It just doesn’t seem to fit you.” His blue eyes meet mine, clear and steady. “You don’t need anyone’s charity. You never have.”

“Ha. I don’t know about that.” I keep my gaze on my plate, meticulously cutting off a perfect square to eat. “I could use some charity right about now.”

His disagreement comes in the form of a grunt. But I’ve been around him enough now that I’ve started being able to interpret them, I guess.

“It’s not like I’m flush with cash,” I add.

“Granted. But it’s not charity that you need. It’s justice. Your account shouldn’t have been frozen. Once that’s settled, you’ll be okay, right?”

“For a little while, at least. But it doesn’t solve the bigger problem of paying for school next year or how I’m going to figure that out.”

He sets his plate down again, and I notice he’s finished his food while I still have half my omelette left. “Right, but even that isn’t about charity. You apply for more merit-based scholarships that don’t take finances into account, and you get a job. I believe in you.”

“I’m glad someone does,” I mutter.

Turning on the couch so he can face me, he reaches over and squeezes my leg just above my knee. “I know it seems impossible right now. Between what’s going on with your parents and the money problems, it’s all a big mess. But part of that is because it just happened, and part of that is because we might need to get creative in coming up with solutions.”

I raise an eyebrow. “We?”

“We’re friends. I help my friends.”

I eye him doubtfully.

Laughing, he spreads his hands. “I do! I let Liam crash here last year when he was between places. And I helped him find a better place and a roommate.”

“Better place than here?”

That makes him chuckle. “Better than the place he was living before.”

“You didn’t want him as a roommate?”

He props his arm on the back of the couch and rests his head on his hand then gives a shrug. “Not especially. Not him, specifically, I just prefer having my own space. I don’t mind helping out a friend, like I said, but it gets awkward when I’m the landlord and the roommate.”

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