Page 19 of Savage Hearts
She closes her eyes, draws a breath, gathers herself, then looks at me again.
“Do you have any other items of clothing that aren’t gray or made of fleece?”
“Yeah. Duh. My undies.”
“My god. I can’t believe we’re related.”
She’s so horrified, she’s about to make the sign of the cross over her chest. Or maybe call for a priest and douse me with a vial of holy water. It makes me laugh.
“Oh, relax, Beyoncé. There’s other stuff under the candy.”
When she looks hopefully at the duffel, I say, “I also brought white T-shirts and jean shorts.”
Her expression indicates she might be tasting the regurgitated remains of her lunch. “I can see we’ll need to do some shopping while you’re here, too.”
“Too?”
“In addition to taming that feral skunk on top of your head.”
“Excuse me, but not everyone thinks it’s necessary to look like a fashion model.”
“There has to be a happy medium between fashion model and hobo.”
“If you mean people who don’t have homes, Cruella, the correct term is ‘unhoused.’ ‘Hobo’ is super derogatory.”
“You’ve been living in San Francisco too long.”
“Can we table this discussion that’s sure to devolve into a political shouting match for a sec so I can ask when we’re going to eat? The last thing I had was a gross clot of slimy black fish eggs with some coagulated dairy product on a piece of bread the size of a quarter. I’m absolutely famished. You rich people eat like birds.”
She pauses for a beat, then covers her face with her hands and dissolves into laughter.
I say drily, “I’m glad my starvation is amusing you.”
“It’s just that I forgot how funny you are.”
“Funny as in ha-ha, or funny as in weird?”
“Ha-ha.” She thinks for a moment. “And also weird.”
“Thanks for that. Changing gears again: what does Declan do for a living? And don’t lie to me. I’m not one of your bedazzled fuck boys. I know when you’re not telling the truth.”
Her smile fades. She walks slowly to the chair she had her feet propped up on, sits, and folds her hands demurely between her thighs. “I want to tell you, but I don’t want you to judge.”
My laugh is short and disbelieving. “Judge?Dude, I’ve been living in San Francisco for quite some time. There’s literally nothing that can shock me anymore.”
“Okay. Well, if you must know…” Hesitating, she takes a deep breath. “He’s in the Mob. Actually, heisthe Mob. He’s, like, the main guy.”
Several things click inside my head, and I nod thoughtfully. “Hmm. Makes sense. So, about the eating situation again. Are we doing that before or after I let you do something awful to my hair that I’m sure to regret?”
When she only sits there staring at me, her eyes welling with tears, I get panicky.
“Oh, shit. What’s wrong? Please tell me he’s not cheating on you. I’m not sure whose side I’d take.”
She leaps from the chair and launches herself across the room, slamming into me and flinging her arms around my neck.
I’m almost thrown back onto the mattress. Despite my total shock and the force of her embrace, I manage to stay upright. Then she bursts into tears, leaving me at a complete loss.
I say tentatively, “Um. What’s happening now?”
