Page 32 of Knockout (Whiskey Dolls 2)

She took a step back and prepared to turn to leave when I spoke up. This was just too freaking perfect! “Wait. You’re Jude’s gram?” I asked, a shit-eating grin stretching across my face so wide my cheeks ached.

Her eyes sparkled at my mention of his name. “You know my grandson?”

“I do.” I offered her my hand for a shake. “I’m Layla. Jude’s told me a lot about you. It’s so nice to meet you.”

She broke the handshake to place her free hand on her chest, and I noticed then that the other was holding a large Tupperware container full of what looked to be brownies. “Oh my goodness! You’re Layla! Of course. It’s nice to meet you as well. I’m Sybil. I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

I let out a groan as I rolled my eyes. “None of it’s true. I promise.”

Her tinkling laugh sounded like bells. “I’m quite sure. I know that boy well, so I took most of what he said with a grain of salt.” She cast a quick glance behind me, her eyes going round. “Oh, is that a cheese board? I just love a good cheese board.”

Before I could invite her in—which I totally intended to do—she shouldered her way past me into my apartment with a lot more strength than I figured a woman her age would have.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” she asked, standing in the middle of my living room with a cube of sharp cheddar between her fingers. “Do you mind?”

I waved her on. “Not at all. If you don’t mind sharing a brownie or two, you’re more than welcome to help yourself.”

She popped the cheese cube in her mouth, dropped the container of sweets on the center of the table, and made herself right at home in the armchair before asking, “I’m not interrupting anything, am I? I can go...”

She left her statement open-ended, and I got the feeling Sybil’s arrival on my doorstep wasn’t coincidental at all. My Spidey senses were tingling, telling me this woman was clearly up to something.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave her a shrewd look—or the best one I could manage, given my face was still covered in beautifying goop.

“You didn’t get off on the wrong floor by mistake, did you?”

“Clever girl,” she said with a knowing grin. All of a sudden, the façade of the sweet, unassuming old lady fell, revealing the lady full of cunning and wit sitting before me. “My grandson has told me stories, so I felt it was time I get to know the young woman who’s been driving him batshit crazy for months now.” Her hand came up to stop me when I opened my mouth to defend myself. “And before you say a word, believe me, I already know the little shit-heel more than deserved every minute of it.”

I relaxed my posture, grinning slyly as I moved back over to the couch and resumed my seat. “I think you and I are going to be very good friends, Sybil.” Grabbing the remote, I pointed it at the television and asked, “Do you like true crime shows?”

“Please,” she harrumphed, picking up a slice of salami and popping it into her mouth. “Is there anything else worth watching?”

Oh hell yeah! The absolute best of friends.

* * *

Jude

I’d been pacing my apartment for the past twenty minutes, berating myself for being such a chickenshit. Layla and I were supposed to be friends now, meaning, if I wanted to see her, I could just go see her. It wasn’t like I needed a reason or anything.

For four days I’d looked for any chance I could find to run into her. I went to the mailroom every single day instead of checking my box once or twice a week. I walked through the lobby at a much slower, sedate pace on the off chance she’d suddenly appear. I’d even gone so far as driving one level up in the parking garage just to see if I’d spot her shiny red Benz before going back down to park in my reserved space. It was official, I was a pathetic asshole, and I was really starting to hate myself. “You’re friends, you dumb son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath. “Friends hang out. It’s totally normal. Happens all the time. Just go down there and see what she’s up to. Simple as that.”

My pep talk didn’t do shit, but then a lightbulb flicked on in my brain, and I remembered that a package of hers had been delivered to me a few weeks back by mistake. “Aha!” That’s right. I actually shouted aha as I sprinted to my room and grabbed the small cardboard box from my closet shelf.

I’d kept it, thinking I could use it for some sort of prank, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I might have—definitely—opened it. At first I was unimpressed. It was a box of candles, nothing secret or shameful I could use against her, but then I’d started removing the lids and smelling them...and kept one or two for myself. I never in a million years would have considered myself the kind of douche who’d burn candles in his apartment. I might be a single man, but I hadsomeself-respect. However, they just smelled so damn good!

Minus the candles I’d pilfered, I taped the box back up and headed out the door. I tried to play it cool as I took the elevator down to her floor, but I couldn’t keep from tapping my foot as the goddamn thing took its sweet ass time to travel one floor.

I felt like I was a fucking kid again, trying to sneak a peek at his first pair of tits. It was sad, really, and if I could have pulled it off, I’d have kicked my own ass for being so pathetic.

I reached her door and pulled in a breath, filling my chest before finally finding my balls and knocking.

I was met with Layla’s melodic voice calling out, “It’s open. Come on in.”

I grabbed the knob and twisted, entering her apartment for the very first time.

“Hey, this was delivered to my apartment by accident, and I wanted to bring it—” I looked up and nearly tripped over my own feet at what I saw. “What in the ever-loving fuck is going on here?”

Layla shot me a snarky grin—or at least I thought it was snarky. It was hard to tell, given all the pink shit slathered on her face just then—and greeted, “Oh hey,Joodle Bug.”

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