Page 49 of Positively Pricked
Chapter 16
When I walked in through my own front door, the television was blaring, and the whole house reeked of burnt popcorn. I found Paisley and Professor Lumberjack on the living room sofa, watching Paisley's favorite celebrity gossip channel.
The professor was big and burly, with thinning hair and a red beard that almost perfectly matched his red flannel shirt.
In the nearby armchair sat Charlotte, with her arms crossed and an expression I was all too familiar with. It was her "I'm-not-going-anywhere-and-you-can't-make-me" expression.
Funny, she'd been wearing the exact same look earlier when I'd left the house to confront Zane. Over my objections, she'd insisted on waiting for me to return. The only real surprise was that she wasn't waiting alone.
I looked to Paisley, cuddled up next to the professor. She was making an obvious point to ignore me, which I thought took a lot of nerve, all things considered.
I gave her an annoyed look. "I thought you were going out of town."
Paisley's eyes remained glued to the screen. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"That depends," I said. "Does this mean you have the rent money?"
Next to her, the professor muttered, "Rent."
My gaze narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"Rent," he repeated to one in particular, "it's only a tool for exploitation."
I felt my jaw clench.Speaking of tools.
"No," I said, as if speaking to my least-favorite half-wit. "Rent is the thing that keeps us in this house."
"Exactly," he said.
Oh, for God's sake.
I looked to Charlotte, who was glowering in their direction. I gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry I'm late. That took longer than I thought."
"That's all right," she said. "It's notyourfault."
Actually, it was my fault, but the way it looked, Charlotte was focusing all of her hostility on the dynamic couch-duo.
With more than a little trepidation, I asked, "So, what's been going on here?"
It was Paisley who answered. "Your sister's being a major pill, that's what."
Charlotte turned to me and said, "And your roommate ate all the cake."
I asked, "What cake?" And then, it hit me. "Oh, my God. Not the cakeyoubrought?"
From the sofa, Paisley gave a dramatic sigh. "Look, if you wanted to save it, you should've put your name on it or something."
Through gritted teeth, I said, "My namewason it."
"It was not," Paisley said.
Now, I was glowering, too. "Well, it said 'congratulations.' My name was implied."
The professor muttered, "Implications don't pay the rent."
What the hell did that even mean?
I snapped, "And neither does your side-squeeze."
