Page 86 of Hate Me Like You Mean It
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Fine.” He shut the door, then meandered to my thick, floor-length curtains… and stabbed one with his cane. “The spa sounds nice. I’m due for a manicure—mind if I join?”
Uh…“I’m already going with a friend.”
“Which friend? Rachel?”
“No, she’s at work.”
“Ria? Jamie?”
“No. They’re also at work. What’s with you?” I asked, my pulse hopping around like a startled rabbit as he shoved open my bathroom door. Maxwell took off the second he heard the shower curtain. Neither I nor the half-eaten strawberry on my floor could compete with bathtime, apparently.
“Does thisfriendof yours drive a Bugatti, perhaps?” This was asked from the depths of my guest bedroom.
… Shit.
“I, um, don’t think so, no,” I replied calmly. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Something heavy clattered in the room he was investigating. My skin buzzed with my building panic. “Only that it’s a rather specific model. Very rare. Less than fifty produced worldwide.”
My heart was already in full sprint when I spotted Dominic sneaking out of the opposite door, shoes in hand.
What were the chances Gampy’s supersonic hearing aids could pick up socked feet creeping over hardwood?
“And out of the less than fifty units,” my grandfather went on, “only one has ever been spotted in this city. Can you guess who it’s rumored to belong to?”
Fuck me.
My eyes flared at Dominic, my hand jerking for him to move faster. If Gampy saw him, it would be bad. But if Maxwell caught on? There would be hell to pay.
African gray parrots were hyper-perceptive, known for their exceptional memory and emotional intelligence. There was absolutely no way Maxi wouldn’t recognize his most favorite human in the whole human world.
His most favorite human, who had introduced him to his most favorite activity: whistling and dancing along to a carefully curated playlist titled “Aggressive Eminem.”
His most favorite human, whose sudden and unexpected disappearance he’d grieved so deeply that the names “Dominic” and “Rosie” had to be permanently banned in my parents’ house.
Maxwell’s alleged reaction to my physical absence was nothing compared to the way he’d mourned for Dominic. The house had been haunted by his cries for months after Dominic left. He wouldn’t play with any of us, wouldn’t talk to us or show any interest in his usual favorite activities—just kept searching and searching and calling out for his best friend.
It had been, to put it mildly, really fucking hard to watch.
Dominic needed to get the hell out of the apartment.Now.
“Gamps, I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but I’m going to need you to trust me on this one. Stay?—”
“Dumb Dumb.”
You could hear a pin drop. I swore under my breath, my eyes squeezing shut for a moment.
Dominic was frozen in his tracks, lips flatlined as his expression slowly twisted into the anthropomorphized version of the word “fuck.”
Not six feet behind his rigid, hunched back, Gampy now stood, stock-still, Maxwell perched on his left shoulder.
The parrot rose to his full height and cocked his head. “Dumb Dumb.”
Silence. Nobody moved.
Dominic’s face was white.
Confused by the lack of response, Maxwell gave a soft chirp. “Want a fruit loop? You’re a fruit loop.” His body gave a gentle bob, like he wanted to fly but wasn’t sure yet if it was a good idea.
