Page 115 of Road Queens
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look pretty scraped up.”
“This is nothing. You should’ve been there when Sean had to take me to the ER. Six stitches! It would’ve only been four, but I slipped again after I slipped. Again.”
“Well. Er. Keep up the good work?”
“Back away from the car, Benny; I have to pull in.”
Benny, who had finally regained his balance, pushed away from the car window and fell on his ass on the grass. Which was all they could have hoped for. “Nice to meet you!” he hollered as Sean pulled into the garage.
“Believe it or not, that kid is a certified genius. That’s literal. He showed me the certificate.”
Amanda laughed. “I believe it. Lots of smart people are foolish about ordinary things. Like Richard Dawkins and Sherlock Holmes.”
He checked his mailbox, then brought her up into his kitchen. “Just magazines,” he said, relieved.
“Cooking magazines. Some I’ve never heard of, for all I run a store that sells them.Gastronomica,” Amanda read aloud, peeking over his shoulder. “Cherry Bombe?”
“Nosy,” he said affectionately.
“Oh, look who’s talking. Go on, then. Let’s have the tour.”
It didn’t take long. And it ended where it had to. He’d stood back while Amanda studied the wall, poked at some of the articles, walked back and forth, read every word, and finally stood in front of it with her hands on her hips.
“I’m gonna go ahead and posit the obvious: you haven’t had a chance to take it down.”
“Busy week,” he pointed out with a smile. Since she didn’t seem horrified or even put out, he slid an arm around her waist. “But I promise to tear it all down.”
“Mmmm.” She looked at him. “It was brave. Showing me this.”
“I’m—I’m glad you’re not mad.” He’d imagined this scenario more than once. And more than once, imaginary Amanda had taken one horrified look and run off, shrieking. Imaginary Amanda also kicked him in the balls a few times. So, yes, this was definitely a dream.
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Amanda teased.
Explain yourself. If you can.“I’m not unaware I’ve been living an incomplete life.”
“Okay.”
“And if Iwasunaware, my sister would remind me. She mentions that almost as often as the botched b-day party. And maybe you won’t believe me, but until recently, I hadn’t posted anything for a year. I only come in here to vacuum.”
“But then you updated.” Amanda tapped the newest article pinned to the wall. “When you found out Jonny Frank had been murdered. Which kicked things off all over again.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
“But we’re done now, so.” He went to the closet and grabbed an empty Amazon box, then turned back and reached for the newest article, destined for the shredder.
“No. Leave it up.” She turned to look at him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Or what we’re going to do. But people still need help, whether from the system or OpStar or what have you. So leave it up for now. All of it. I have to think about this for a while.”
This is amazing. So, again, it can’t be real. Could I have a fever? Has this entire week been the greatest fever dream of my life?
“Oh. That isn’t what I ... um ... okay. Sure.”
“Aw. You’re cute when you’re discomfited.” She hooked an arm around his neck, pulled his head down, treated him to a slow, sweet kiss, then pulled back and nipped his lower lip. “Dear me. I can’t seem to remember the way to your boudoir. Refresh my memory?”
“Only if you never call it a ‘boudoir’ again.”
“Fine, take me to your fart palace—ack!” He’d swept her into his arms, carried her down the hall, and plopped her into the middle of his bed. “Whoa. Nice sheets.”
