Page 114 of Road Queens
“Clean up on aisle ... fuck it, I’m too tired to finish the joke.”
“Good, it’s overused. Am I the only one who wants a malt?”
She chuckled. “You are not.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Huh. Well, I’ve got to give you credit for honesty if nothing else, Sean. This is not a bedroom, and that is not an obsession board.”
“Honesty but nothing else, huh?”
“Depends on what you cook for me.”
It was the next morning, and Sean had politely yet reluctantly begged to take leave of her so he could go home, shower, change his clothes, check his mail.I must reek. I need clean clothes for sure; she’s sweet to pretend not to notice.
Amanda had made them both chocolate-banana milkshakes, which they drank/ate while chatting about their plans for the day. Amanda’s smoothies were like Dairy Queen’s Blizzards: one could hold them upside down and nothing would come out.
“Checking the mail is a big thing for you, huh?”
“You’ve got no idea.” He chewed more smoothie, swallowed, continued: “I missed most of my niece’s birthday party because I failed to notice the invitation when it showed up.”
Amanda was getting dressed, which was almost as delightful as watching her undress. She got dressed the way most people cleaned outtheir garage: This? No. Pitch it. How about this? No, that sucks too. In next to no time, she was ankle deep in rejected jeans, leggings, shorts, and T-shirts. “Ouch.”
“And my sister will keep reminding me of that until I’m on my deathbed, and then she’ll remind me and throw a bucket of ice water on me, so.”
“Well, shit.” She’d run a brush through her red waves and piled the (clean) clothing rejects into an empty hamper, which she booted into the corner. “We’d better get over to your place and check the mail, don’t you think?”
“We?” He paused, then found a more casual tone. “I mean, sure, okay.”
“Nice try keeping it casual, but you should see how delighted you look right now.”
He ducked his head. “Never mind how I look. What about your Hole?”
Amanda grinned at his deadpan question. “My Hole is closed for the holiday.” When he looked at her expectantly, she added, “Lipstick Day.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Nope—every July twenty-ninth.”
So he gave her a lift to his place, relieved that earlier in the week he’d cleaned out his car, which was occasionally mistaken for a garbage barge. Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling up to Schoolhouse Square.
“Wow. That’s quite a coincidence,” Amanda said, eyeing the row of town homes that used to house former OpStar client Jen Johnson. “But not really, I’m guessing.”
“No, not really. Once I’d graduated and joined the MPD, my sister recommended the place. Jen Carroll—she’s back to her maiden name since she divorced the scumbag you liberated her from—was my neighbor.”
Amanda snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I think she was talking about you when we picked her up! She said her neighbor helped her pack and would be surprised when he got home and found she was all moved out.”
“Yeah, Johnson must have escalated. When we talked about it, apparently he’d only ‘accidentally’ pushed her hard enough to sprain her shoulder. Christ, that’s two women in my life who were being abused, and I didn’t know a thing until it was all over.”
“It’s insidious,” Amanda agreed. “And everywhere. It’s why we—ack!”
Benny Sol had smacked into the passenger-side window, then clung like a six-foot-six barnacle. Which made sense; barnacles probably couldn’t skate either. “Hi, Sean! Hi, person in Sean’s car!”
“Jesus,” Amanda muttered. “Do I roll down the window? Or should we keep driving? I can’t tell if this is an ambush or a nervous breakdown or a cry for help. Or all three.”
“Same. Looking good, Benny!” Sean lied. “Introduce yourself to my—to Amanda.”
“Nice to meet you,” he replied as she rolled her window down.
