Page 22 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
I pull out a stack of menus from a drawer in the kitchen. What would Iris like? Hopefully she’s built up an appetite after the pool. Chinese and Thai are always great. She seems to enjoy them. Or pizza…
Wait. Pizza? Why the hell is this flyer here? I haven’t touched a pizza since Ivy’s death, and I don’t plan on doing so anytime soon. I start to toss it, then stop. What if Iris wants some?
I stare at the colorful picture of a pepperoni pizza. The same thing we had at Cajun Milan when we had our argument. But I’m the only one who remembers. Iris has no reason to not like it.
I put it back on the stack. There are knocks on the door, and I take a breath, mentally getting ready to deal with whatever interrogation Julie’s planning. Normally I don’t tolerate uninvited pests, but this is Iris’s friend. I have to make an effort.
I open the door. And for the second time in a month, I come face to face with Julie Pearce. Long, sleek brown hair and wide blue eyes tinged with wariness. A hot-pink dress and ballet flats add to her appearance of innocence and harmlessness. She’s pretty in a soft way, untouched by anything unpleasant. Her parents spoil her, her brothers dote on her and she basically does whatever she wants. The only reason I don’t dislike her is because, despite the privileged upbringing, she seems surprisingly down to earth and genuinely nice. Milton had some stories to tell, saying his baby sister could do no wrong.
“Come in,” I say.
“Is Iris here?” she asks, balancing carefully on her feet like a doe ready to bolt.
I cock an eyebrow. If she wanted to make sure her friend’s home, she should’ve called first. “She is.”
She walks in. I finally note the large plastic bags she’s holding. They smell like food. Very delicious, hot food.
“What’s that?”
“Chinese. Iris’s favorite. Well, she loves Thai, too, but Chinese was on the way.”
“I have a microwave,” I say dryly. “Does she like pizza?”
Julie frowns as though I’m criticizing her choice. “She likes Chinese more. She hardly eats pizza.”
Good. Now I can toss that pizza menu out. “Come on in. We haven’t had lunch yet.”
“That’s why I came early.”
“Would’ve been smarter to call. We could’ve been out.”
“I called Iris already, and she said I could come by and bring whatever looks good for lunch. Besides, seeing her—and you—in person seemed like the thing to do, especially after what she told me yesterday.”
The reminder stirs my anger again, but I push it aside. Julie had nothing to do with it. “Want something to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.”
I hand her a glass and make myself a gin and tonic. I sit on a chair at the dining table, my legs stretched out, and enjoy my drink.
She places the bags on the table and eyes me, one hip propped against the edge of the table and her arms crossed. She doesn’t touch the water. Her eyes are slit, but not from anger. “You aren’t what I thought. Not according to what Byron said.”
Obviously not. I’d be worried if Byron said anything truthful about me. Except the part about me being a dick. That’s definitely true, depending on who I’m dealing with. “What did Milton have to say?”
“He said you’re sharp. Didn’t say you’re nice, which made me a little worried.”
That shit,I think with half amusement, half annoyance. “Maybe you should form your own opinion.”
“Maybe I should.”
“And…?”
“I want to know everything, but you don’t seem like the type to spill.”
“Perceptive.” Nobody knows much about me because I make it my business not to blab.
“I just want to be sure you’re good for Iris. Your reputation sort of…sucks.”
It’s cute how she’s trying to sound polite even though there’s really no way. I haven’t been a nice man. Didn’t even want to be nice. “There’s no ‘sort of’ about it. It sucks. One hundred percent.”
