Page 120 of Road Queens
“What? Sorry, couldn’t hear you over all the brownie in my mouth. No! Don’t you dare take that one, it’s the last one. Hey! Let’s make smoothies out of the leftovers.”
“Naw.” He looped an arm around Amanda’s shoulders, kissed the top of her head. “But I’d drink a milkshake made out of the leftovers.”
“I thought that whole crumbling baked goods into a beverage was an awful idea, the way stuffing is an awful idea. Stale, damp bread jammed up inside a turkey corpse ... what the hell were they thinking?”
“That wasting food was sinful? And that they were lucky to be alive at all?”
“Learn to recognize rhetorical questions, please. You spending the night?”
He grinned. “You have to ask?”
“I always ask. And I appreciate that you never assume.” She went up on her toes to kiss him. “Also, take it easy! Don’t trip when you race up my stairs. It took three Band-Aids to take care of your skinned knee last time.”
“Worth it.”
“Idiot.” She rolled her eyes, but the hell of it was, Sean was (probably) telling the truth. He loved the building she loved best and usually spent at least three nights a week with her. But he was careful never to assume, and he reciprocated invitations. Which was how they’d ended up fucking on all fours in front of the obsession wall. Which, in turn, led to acknowledging that having sex while Iris’s and Jonny’s mug shotslooked on was (1) weird, and (2) an experiment that didn’t warrant repeating.
Sean had spent the last several weeks cooking for her any number of times and was a bit abashed when he presented some of her favorites: spinachpalmiers, carbonara, butterscotch custard. With a mouth full ofpalmier, Amanda said, “Also known as pig’s ear or palm heart. Oh, yum! Unrelated, do I want to know how you know I love carbonara and pudding? Because we’ve talked a lot but never about pudding.”
“I followed you on Facebook for a while,” he admitted. “You knew that. But I stopped last year. My sister kept reminding me I was living an incomplete life.”
“Ah. Then you also know I love Oreos and smoked oysters. And gazpacho and deep-fried Snickers, but only in small doses. And never together.”
“Next time,” he vowed, making her giggle.
It was far too early to be talking cohabitation, but it wasn’t too early to start talking about talking about cohabitation. Anyone who could put up with her weird life (and, even better, thrive in it, as Sean was) and her weird friends and her weird ... everything else ... that person was a keeper.
Sidney rushed up to them, more agitated than usual, which was horrifying. “Can you believe the turnout tonight? Over half a dozen! And they all took one of those little posters—”
“Cover flats,” Amanda corrected.
“—and bought cookies and brownies.”
“That’s great, Sid—”
“But we’re out of snickerdoodles!”
Sean, who had eaten three, had no comment.
“And this was great, Amanda, excellent test-run plan.” Sidney began to prowl back and forth as she pondered. “But y’know, when the book comes out, we need to do some kind of bike-themed thing. And maybe something with designer jackets or whatever? In keeping with the theme that female bikers can be into Elena VelezandDucati?”
“Motorcycle cupcakes?” Sean asked. “Served on a bed of designer denim?”
“Don’t be stupid. Wait.” Sidney’s gaze went to the ceiling as she considered. “Only if the little bikes on top of the cupcakes are made out of sugar instead of plastic. And it better be buttercream frosting. The real stuff, not that colored Crisco shit.”
“Or we could just sell books?” Amanda asked. “Because we’re not a bakery?”
“You know you’re saying that with a mouthful of brownie, right, you sugar-laden bitch?”
“Sugar-laden.” Damn.Amanda smiled to see her oldest friend’s enthusiasm and looked forward to Sidney losing her damned mind at the actual book signing next year. If Cass ended up getting rich and famous, Sidney was going to be the friend who was also the heavy.
(“Hey! Back off, don’t crowd her—oh, you know this person, Cass? Here, have a seat. Sorry about throwing the garbage can at you.”)
“It’s possible Sidney’s more excited about the spring release ofRiding Bitchthan the author,” Sean observed.
“I had the same thought,” Amanda replied.
“Thanks for doing this, Amanda.” Cass ambled over to the register to liberate an M&M cookie from the plate and into her mouth. “A pre-pre-book-signing bake sale. Though I don’t think we sold many—”
