Look the Part Page 11

  Tilting her body to see past mine, she flashes Amanda a toothy grin. “Bye. See you tomorrow.”

  “You two kids have fun.”

  It’s torture, not fun.

  “My car or yours?” Ellen asks, slipping on her wool jacket just as we emerge from the building.

  “Why did you have to say this is a date? Amanda’s a dog with a bone when it comes to my personal life.”

  “What’s Harry doing? I’d hoped he might stop by.”

  I grab her arm and turn her toward me. “Did you hear my question?”

  Blue eyes scan my face before landing on mine as she scrapes her teeth across her bottom lip several times. “Do you think about what happened at your house? I’m not asking if you regret it or not, just … do you think about it. Do you think about me?”

  My mouth opens, but my brain vetoes the idea of acknowledging this. “We’ll take my car.” I nod to the right.

  Her heels click behind my long strides. “You didn’t answer me. Where’s Harry?”

  “You didn’t answer me either.” I unlock my car, instinctively opening the passenger door. Heidi liked it when I opened the door for her. The night I killed her, she opened her own door.

  Ellen tosses her handbag on the seat and turns toward me instead of getting in the car. “Your question? Why did I tell Amanda this is a date? Well, I’m struggling to figure out if what we’ve done makes me spontaneous or just cheap. And since you like to analyze the stereotypical male and female roles, I would guess that men never feel cheap. I bet you haven’t lost a single second of sleep over wondering if what we did makes you cheap and easy. Correct?”

  “Please tell me this isn’t leading to a discussion about emotions and expectations. There’s no place in my life for that right now.”

  She deflates on a slow sigh, staring at her feet for a few seconds before inching her gaze back up to meet mine. “But the sex was good, right?”

  “Get in the car.”

  “Better than average?”

  “Get in the car.”

  “Was the seven a rating of my appearance or my performance?”

  “Fucking hell, woman, get in the car!”

  She grins like the snake-charmer-to-my-dick that she is. What have I gotten myself into?

  *

  “THIS FEELS TOO residential for my business needs.” Ellen stops humming long enough to speak.

  I had her in my bed, but we didn’t sleep. There’s a good chance she snores classical music.

  Pulling into a driveway, I slip off my sunglasses as the sun takes up residency beyond the horizon. “I have to pick up Harrison.”

  Harrison appears at the front door and hikes his backpack over his shoulder. He frowns at me as he walks down the porch steps, but as soon as he spots Ellen in the front seat, he grins.

  Little shit.

  “Hey, Harry.” Ellen twists around to greet him as he gets in the back seat.

  “What are you doing here? Please tell me this means we’re going out for dinner.”

  Ellen says, “Yes,” as I say, “No.”

  I shoot her a disgusted look that she ignores as we back out of the drive.

  “Your dad offered to help me find a new office space before taking us to dinner.”

  I hate her.

  “Why do you need a new office space?”

  “My new one burned down.”

  “But why don’t you just stay at my dad’s office? I didn’t understand why you were leaving anyway.”

  I haven’t had a chance to discuss this with him in detail.

  “Your dad finds me too distracting.”

  Nice of Ellen to do it for me. I clear my throat. “Did you and Drew get your science project finished?”

  “Yes, but the supplies were cheap crap.”

  “Harrison,” I warn.

  “Why didn’t you buy the ones I told you to buy?”

  “Drew’s mom said she’d get the supplies if I covered half the cost.”

  “They were crap.”

  “Harrison …”

  Ellen bites her lips together, hiding her amusement. I’m sure her rats don’t talk back to her like this.

  “Where are Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “Home packing. They leave in the morning.”

  “That sucks.”

  “You think everything sucks.”

  Ellen snickers.

  I shoot her a sideways glance. She bites her lips together again. Harrison shoves in his earbuds and zones out. I’d like to escape for a while too.

  “No,” Ellen says as we pull into the parking lot of the building. One of my clients owns it and it has two vacant office spaces.

  “No what?” I put the car in Park.

  “This won’t work.” She shakes her head.

  “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

  “They’re doing demolition to the building right next to it which means there will be lots of noise while they’re tearing it down and just as much when they start construction on a new building. The noise will be too distracting to some of my clients.”

  I laugh, rubbing my temples. “You see the irony in this, right? It’s okay for you to be the one distracting other people, but god forbid you have to deal with a little noise.”

  “Harry likes music.”

  My head jerks back and I shake it a few times. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “He likes music, but I bet you a hundred dollars he doesn’t like it when people chew too loudly, or the sound of a fountain, or the tick of a grandfather clock, or the constant beeping of construction equipment.”

  I process what she’s saying and I’d lose a hundred dollars if I took the bet, but it still pisses me off. “I’m trying to be nice. I don’t have to find you a new place. It’s not my problem. I just—”

  “Then don’t.” She shrugs and glances back at Harry.

  I’d say he’s not hearing a word we’re saying, but after the seven incident, I don’t trust him.

  As if he knows we’re watching him, he glances up from his phone screen. “What?”

  “What sounds good to eat?” Ellen asks.

  “We’ll eat at home after we drop Ellen off to get her car.”

  “Pizza.” Harry grins. “Lucé.”

  “I’ve never been. Sounds good to me.” She winks at me.

  Snake charmer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ellen

  THERE’S A TWENTY minute wait at Harry’s favorite pizza place in downtown Minneapolis. We wait in the bar. Harry gets a lemonade, I get a glass of wine, and Flint gets water.

  “Not even one beer?” I ask.

  He sips his water and shakes his head. “I’m driving.”

  I chuckle. “You must be a lightweight. But that’s cool.”

  “He doesn’t drink alcohol,” Harry says, watching the TV in the corner.

  I stare at my glass of wine and feel a pang of guilt. Flint doesn’t say anything. When I look up, his dark eyes dare me to speak one word. He has his son on a strict diet for his autism symptoms. He grows everything imaginable. And he doesn’t drink. Maybe he’s an alcoholic, but I don’t necessarily get that vibe. I think he’s just health conscious.

  I think.

  I swivel the bar stool to face Flint. My knee rests along his inner thigh. He glances down to where our bodies touch. My pulse kicks up a notch. I love touching him. His body stiffens, eyes shifting to see if Harry’s still watching the TV.

  “I’m done with this,” I tell the bartender as I slide my wine away from me. “Could you please get me a glass of water with lemon?”

  “Don’t,” Flint says, sliding the wine glass back toward me.

  It’s not that he’s a health nut. The look he gives me is more. That more saddens me.

  “I’m done.”

  “You took one sip.”

  “I’m done.”

  “I paid for it.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Your table is ready,” a cheery br
unette says, hugging menus to her chest.

  Harry hops off his stool and follows the waitress while Flint and I stand toe to toe. His scowl intensifies. I roll my eyes and reach into my purse, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. He stiffens even more as I slide the money into the pocket of his pants.

  “Take the wine.”

  “I’m. Done.” I turn and follow Harry. “Do you want to sit by me or your dad?” I ask before sliding into the booth.

  “You.” He grins.

  “Good choice.” I wink and sit next to him as Flint sets the wine glass on the table and removes his suit jacket before sliding in across from us.

  He grunts, squinting at me as I cross my legs making sure the toe of my shoe jabs his shin in the process.

  “So what’s good here?”

  “What is it we get, Dad?”

  Flint hides his gaze in the menu. “Pizza with chicken and veggies.”

  “Sounds good.” I smile. “Just get a large and we’ll all share it.”

  Flint glances up. “It’s gluten-free crust.”

  I shrug. “That’s fine.”

  “And non-dairy cheese.”

  Rolling my lips between my teeth, I nod a few times. “That’s. Fine.”

  He sighs or grumbles. “It only comes in one size.”

  “We’ll get two. I’m pretty hungry,” Harrison says.

  Why does sharing a pizza with me seem to upset him? We order three salads. Harry gets his with no dressing, Flint orders his with white balsamic vinaigrette, and I order the same. This seems to anger him as well.

  “Drink your wine.” He nods to my glass after the waitress leaves with our order.

  Holy hell … why did I mention the beer? This is spiraling downward out of control.

  “I’m good, but thank you.”

  Dinner follows the same theme. I don’t drink my wine. That pisses him off. I say I like the dressing. That pisses him off. I like the gluten-free pizza with non-dairy cheese. That really pisses him off. The autistic twelve-year-old is the mature one out of the two boys at the table.

  We slide out to leave, and Flint stares at the glass of wine as he slips on his jacket. On a defeated sigh, I grab the glass and chug every single ounce of it. “Happy?” I shoot him a cold look and turn, quickly finding my best smile to give Harry as we leave the restaurant.

  “You wanna hear my new song when we get back to my house?” Harry asks as Flint pulls out into traffic.

  “We’re dropping Ms. Rodgers off at the office. That’s where her car is. Besides, you have homework to do.”

  We’re back to Ms. Rodgers. I stare out my window and shake my head. Unbelievable.

  “The science project was my homework. I don’t have anything else to do tonight.”

  “Still … it’s not happening tonight.”

  Chugging a glass of wine in under ten seconds has made my brain a little too relaxed, blurring my thoughts a bit. “I’m a little dizzy after drinking that wine I was forced to drink. Maybe you should take me home and I’ll take an Uber to get my car tomorrow.”

  Flint grumbles something under his breath as my phone rings. I fish it out of my bag and it slips through my hand between the seat and the console.

  “Shoot …” It continues to ring as I try to thread my hand between the seats.

  “Here.” Harry bends forward and grabs it. “Oh cool. Who’s Alex?” He stares at the screen a few seconds before handing it to me.

  My breath catches as the image illuminates.

  “That dude was jumping from a plane.”

  I nod slowly, slipping the phone back into my purse. Flint gives me a curious look. I glance away.

  “Have you gone skydiving?” Harry asks.

  I nod.

  “Really?”

  I nod.

  “You ever wonder what would happen if the parachute didn’t release?”

  I grunt a little laugh. Harry says absolutely whatever pops into his head.

  “There’s a backup.”

  “What if it didn’t work? You’d die, right?”

  “Harrison …” Flint glances in his rearview mirror.

  “That’s the likely scenario,” I say.

  “Do you think you’d splatter like a bug or—”

  “Harrison,” Flint says with an edge to his voice.

  “Jeez, what, Dad?”

  I don’t like being the cause of their fights. I also don’t like talking about Alex. It’s still something I can’t find peace with in my life. But I choose to save Harry at the moment. “Alex did all kinds of cool things. Skydiving, scuba diving, and man could he surf. But he loved to journey up mountains more than anything. He was a passionate mountaineer.”

  “Like in the snow with ice picks?”

  “Yep.”

  “Has he climbed Mount Everest?”

  “He sure did.”

  “I want to do that someday.”

  Flint pulls into a spot in front of my apartment building and looks over his shoulder. “You do?”

  Harry nods.

  “That requires physical activity. You do realize that, right?” Flint says.

  “Shut up.” Harry rolls his eyes.

  I open my door. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Can I see your rats?”

  I look at Flint.

  “Another time.”

  “You always say that. I told you I don’t have homework.”

  I shrug. “It’s fine with me.”

  “Thanks.” Harry jumps out.

  Mr. Grumbly follows us up to my apartment.

  “Cool place.”

  I laugh. This kid lives in a truly cool house, yet he finds my two-bedroom apartment “cool.” I want to be twelve again. “Thanks.” I toss my bag on the kitchen counter. “Follow me. We can let them out and feed them while your dad’s skin crawls.”

  Flint leans his shoulder against the wall, messing with his phone. “Five minutes, Harrison.”

  “In here.” I lead Harry to the bedroom and open the cage. “Come, babies.” I make kissing sounds. “Mozart, come see Harry. You remember Harry don’t you, baby.”

  Mozart waddles his chubby little rat ass out of the cage, and Harry picks him up.

  “That one is a lot smaller.” He nods to my shy girl staying in the cage as the rest of my musical geniuses make their way to freedom.

  “That’s Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta.”

  Harry gives me a funny look of confusion as Mozart squirms in his hands, trying to get onto his shoulder.

  “Lady Gaga.”

  “That’s her real name?”

  I nod, nuzzling my nose into Beethoven. “Gaga might not come out to play today. We’ll see. This is Beethoven, and this is Chopin, and this crazy guy here is Bach.”

  “I’m going to ask my grandparents for rats this Christmas. My dad would never buy them for me.”

  That’s totally true. I set Beethoven down and stand. “Here’s a banana. You can break off some pieces for them and they’ll love you. Lady Gaga might even come out if you have food to share.”

  “Will they bite me?”

  “No. They’re very tame. They’ve always lived in a pack, which usually makes rats less aggressive. But they’ll all lick your hands. I think of it as giving you kisses. Anyway, I’ll be out in the other room. It’s okay if they wander out too, but that banana will keep their attention for a while.”

  Flint’s still focused on his phone, one leg crossed over the other at his ankles. Even when he’s an ass, he’s over six feet of sex in a suit.

  “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  He shakes his head without looking up at me. “Who’s Alex?”

  I lean against my counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “Are you an alcoholic?”

  “That’s your assumption?” Still no eye contact.

  “It wasn’t until I realized how pissed off you were at that full glass of wine.”

  “Who’s Alex?”

  “My ex-husband. Are you an alcoholic?”<
br />
  “I’m chronically sober. Why didn’t you answer his call?” He still doesn’t look at me.

  “I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. Was alcohol your only addiction?”

  “Yes. Why did you get a divorce?”

  “Because he hated me for having two hands after part of his were amputated. Were you driving the car the night your wife died?”

  Now he looks up and a complex expression of shock, confusion, and anger twists his face. “Harrison, we’re leaving right this minute.”

  If I crossed some line by asking that, it was only because he crossed the same line, and in the middle our realities collided.

  “Gaga came out.” Harry brings my little lady out with him.

  I fight past the pain to smile at him. I bet he has no idea that his father carries around such an unfathomable grief on his conscience.

  “Want to hold her?” He tries to hand Lady Gaga to Flint.

  “Put it down, we’re leaving.”

  “Her, not it,” Harry scolds.

  I take her from him and set her on the sofa. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  Flint opens the door.

  “Bye,” Harry says.

  As Flint turns to follow behind him, I grab his wrist. Flint looks over his shoulder at my hand on him.

  “Sometimes the world ends and forgets to take you with it. I get it.”

  He pulls his arm from my grasp, giving me a quick glance of hollow, heartbreaking nothingness before following Harry.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Flint

  “IF YOU’RE WONDERING what I want for Christmas, I want rats—at least three.” Harrison interrupts the conversation I’m having with my parents—the one that has nothing to do with rats for Christmas presents.

  My dad laughs. “I think that’s doable.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It’s not. If you want him to have rats, you’re going to have to keep them at your house, and he’ll come visit them.”

  “They carry less diseases than dogs.” Harrison huffs out a sigh.

  “I’ll keep that in mind when we don’t get a dog either.”

  “You’re not even half as cool as Elle.”

  “You mean the rat lady who hums all day long? I’m really wounded.” I press one hand over my heart and point to the stairs with my other hand. “Go to bed.”