Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

Getting by on less than two hours of sleep wasn’t as much fun as it was cracked up to be.

Trey had thought he’d be ready to get the hell out of dodge, but as the panel droned on and on, all he could think about was trying to track down Ressa and . . .

And what?

That was the kicker.

And what?

His body still burned with the memory of the past night, his shoulders and back tender from her nails. He was both more sated than he could remember feeling in years and at the same time, he was already burning, already hungry for more.

And still, the endless panel dragged on endlessly.

Baron T. Capstone droned on, loving the sound of his own voice, the sound of it like an ice pick in Trey’s ear. The pompous prick talked over everybody, including the moderator and interrupted people non-stop. Finally, Trey just started ignoring him and finished up with his comments, raising his voice to be heard when necessary, doing what he could to answer the questions directed at him.

Once, when he’d finished, Baron had given him a quelling look and asked sourly, “Are you done yet?”

“For a minute.”

The room had laughed for the first time since the panel had started and Trey stopped waiting for the moderator to handle Baron and did it himself. After that, the questions flowed a little easier and the other authors managed to get a few words in, too. And with every passing minute, Baron seemed to grit his teeth more and more.

When it ended, a publicist from his publisher cornered him.

“I need an hour of your time,” she said.

Trey thought longingly of his plan to pin down Ressa. But Sylvia gave him a beaming, hopeful smile and instead of turning tail and running, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Why? You going to yell at me over the panel?”

“Hell, no. I’m tempted to buy you a drink.” Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Of course, I didn’t say that.”

She grinned at him and, after a minute, he smiled back. “Okay, then. What do you need?”

“Come on. You’ll see.” She hooked an arm through his and led him away.

As they were walking through the halls, a familiar laugh caught his ears and he looked up.

There she was. Ressa, on her way into a panel—

“Ah, can this wait a couple of minutes?”

Sylvia smiled. “Of course.”

He barely managed to catch Ressa before the door closed and the soft rush of dusky pink staining the warm gold of her cheeks had him wanting to find out how low the blush went. Then he just wanted her naked.

“Ah, hey. I was . . .” He blew out a breath, the nerves that hadn’t been present for most of the night now rushing up to steal his voice.

“I need to get in there,” she said, her voice soft.

“Yeah, I know. Look, I was just wondering . . . we, ah . . . well. We never got around to getting coffee,” he said.

Ressa laughed. “I think we kind of did an end run around coffee.”

“So.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Can I call you sometime?”

“Call . . .”

*   *   *

Oh, no.

Ressa swallowed back the emotions that immediately leaped to choke her. Excitement and fear—equal amounts of both. Call me? Trey wanted to call her?

“Ressa!”

Hearing her name, she glanced behind her, even as the fear started to edge out the excitement.

She swung a look back to Trey again. “Ah . . .”

In the end, though, it was the fear that won out. Fear, maybe because she couldn’t quite forget the way somebody had watched her all weekend. You look familiar . . .

No, Baron didn’t know her, but what if he had?

Trey wasn’t a mid-list writer—or even a mega writer who lived in some shack in the middle of nowhere, eschewing the media.

While he didn’t exactly chase the media spotlight, he had people in his family who were media darlings. The cameras, the press . . .

Her stomach lurched on her and, abruptly, she backed up. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said, pasting a casual smile on her face. “We . . .”

She shrugged. “Look, we had a nice night, but that’s probably all it’s ever going to be.”

His brows dropped low over his eyes and as something passed through that surreal blue—hurt?—she turned away. “Take care of yourself, Trey.”

It was the right thing to do, she told herself. Not just for them, but for the people close to them.

But still . . . she felt like she’d just punched herself, right in the chest.

*   *   *

We had a nice night.

Trey couldn’t shut the voice up.

It had taken nearly thirty minutes for him and Sylvia to make their way to the room where she had hoarded boxes of books. And he had replayed in his head endlessly those two minutes—hell, it might have been less than sixty seconds—with Ressa.

“This is going to take more than an hour,” he muttered. One bed held boxes of the hardback he had coming out in a month. The cover bore his name in red, standing out on the black background, the almost ghostly image of a woman looking away, eye-catching in its simplicity.

The other bed was loaded down with boxes of another book. He moved closer, pulled one out. Like the other book, this one featured a woman on the cover. But she was nude—or that was the appearance. The lower curve of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the flair of her hip. She wore a tie, although all the viewer could see of it was the way she held it out from her body, to the side. The tie, oddly enough, had a cartoon character motif.

He ran his finger along the hot pink foil lettering of the title. Exposing the Geek Billionaire.

Aliesha had dared him to write it. For a couple of years, she’d nagged at him—all because he’d complained that he was getting tired of writing stuff that sometimes depressed even him. But he was good at it—it sold well, so he did it.

Then try something else, she’d told him.

L. Forrester had come to life all because of that dare, but this book, in particular, was because of her.

Write me a funny story, baby. Something funny and sexy.

He’d laughed and tried to tease her into bed. Let me just do something sexy instead. She’d smacked him with a copy of the book she’d been reading. The third one he’d published. She’d read it through while he wrote it and while she’d sniffled and brushed at tears as she read it, he’d had more than a few rough spots as he wrote it.

I’m serious. You’ve got a wonderful way with telling a love story, but you always kill one of them. You should write something fun . . . a billionaire, but not some suave guy . . . make him geeky or something. Then give him some classy, controlled girl, and he’s all fumbling around her . . .

He’d fumbled her out of her clothes and into bed, instead.

For two years after Aliesha’s death, he couldn’t write a damn thing—the stories he’d written before no longer worked.

Then one day, he’d lain in bed, that memory circling through his head, over and over again, like it had been on a loop.

He’d sat down at his computer and started to write, almost in a daze. Travis had been there and it was a good thing, because for the next two weeks, he’d barely existed outside that book. It had been this book, although he’d had to rewrite it five times before it felt right.

Two other books had come from L. Forrester before he felt confident enough to try this one, even though it had, technically, been the first.

“You realize everybody thinks you’re a woman, right?”

Trey smiled as he pulled one of the trade paperbacks out. Shrugging, he said, “Yeah. I don’t care.”

He started to sign, ignored the cramping that started up in his hand after the first ten minutes.

Near the end, Sylvia gave him another one and said, “If you can, personalize this one—Max asked you to.”

Trey looked up at her. “Since when does Max read romance?”

“Since never.” She rolled her eyes. “Although I’m still trying. No, he saw them when he was in here signing his and asked if I’d get a copy for a friend of his. She’s a huge fan.”

“Sure.” Trey tightened his hand on the pen. “What’s the name?”

A few seconds later, as he scrawled Ressa’s name inside the cover, he tried yet again to silence the sound of her voice.

We had a nice night . . .

*   *   *

“Heading out soon?”

Distracted, Ressa gave Max a quick glance as she checked to make sure she had everything. Clothes were packed, makeup . . . everything. Why did it feel like she was missing something?

Her heart tugged a little, but she ignored it.

“Yeah. I’m dropping Tori at the airport and then hitting the road. What about you?”

“I don’t fly out until the morning. Taking the night to relax.” He glanced around and then caught her elbow. “I need a minute.”

He caught Tori’s eye. “Would you mind? It won’t take but a second.”

Ressa really didn’t feel like chatting just then. Chatting, talking . . . being around people, even a friend. What she wanted to do was go track down Trey, tell him she was sorry.

And maybe, if that worked, ask him if coffee was still an option.

But she knew that was stupid.

Monumentally stupid.

“What do you need, Max? I’m kind of scattered right now so I hope it doesn’t take brain power.”

“No.” He laughed and turned over a messenger bag, stuffed with books. “Here, just a special thank you. Ah . . . you might want to keep it closed for now.”

Then he winked.

Curious now, she peeked inside and then almost dropped it as she saw the books inside. “Where did you . . .”

“Trade secret.”

Flipping through them, she felt a maniacal grin curling her lips and then, it froze. A cover caught her eye—sucking in a breath, she pulled it out and Max sighed. “Now I told you to wait, young lady.”

She ignored him, practically cradling the book for a few precious seconds before she went to flip through it. Then she stopped.

Her name was scrawled inside.

Ressa,

 

I heard you were a reader. I hope you enjoy.

L. Forrester

Her name jumped out at her, even as she took in the broad scrawl of the handwriting, the quick, almost careless loops and strokes.

“She’s here?” she demanded. Wow. If she could talk to her—

Max laughed and reached out to take the book, slipping it back into the bag. “Oh, don’t go getting any ideas. You’re not going to track the author down—you could hunt night and day and it won’t happen. I asked the publisher to get me a copy. I heard you were a fan.”

She processed that, and then, after tucking the book back into the messenger back, she stared at Max.

“You know her.”

Her accusing tone only elicited a grin from Max. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you tend to know a great many people, Ressa.” He leaned in then, kissed her cheek. “You better go. Your friend is looking this way.”

She glanced back, saw Tori tap her watch.

Swearing, she hitched her bag up. “We’re not done talking about this, Max. I wanna know how you know her.”

“Same way I know you, Ressa. We bumped into each other somewhere along the way.” He nodded at her. “A pleasure, as always.”

A pleasure. She scowled and then rushed back over to Tori.

Tori was glaring at her. “We need to go.”

“I know!”

As they hit the doors, Tori asked, “What did Max want?”

Ressa thought about the book, practically burning a hole through her bag as it rested against her hip. “Just had something he wanted to give me,” she said vaguely. Then, because she didn’t want Tori to ask, she outright lied. “He was also checking up about a con he’s doing in New York, asked if maybe I’d be up there again.”

“That suspense thing? You doing that again?”

“Hell if I know.” Another lie.

“Maybe you oughta look and see if Mr. Hottie will be there.”

They had to jump back out of the way as somebody came speeding in front of them. Tori shouted after the driver, flipping him off for good measure. The interruption gave Ressa time to compose herself and by the time they crossed the street to the parking garage, the heat had faded from her face and she had a curious expression as she eyed Tori. “Mr. Hottie?”

“Yeah. You play all nice and innocent,” Tori said, laughing as she shifted on her seat. “But I saw how you were looking at him. And I saw how he was looking at you. I’m not blind. So, tell me . . . what, did you two jump each other’s bones?”

Ressa felt the blood rush up to stain her face and busied herself with digging her keys free. The rollaway bag she had, had felt so light earlier, and now it seemed to weight a ton.

Tori grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop when Ressa stayed silent. “You did,” Tori said, her eyes rounding. “Oh, man, you did . . . please tell me that he’s as beautiful in bed as he is outside of it.”

Once more, heat flooded her face, while an ache settled in her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, managing a somewhat lofty tone.

Tori wasn’t fooled. “Son of a bitch. You totally jumped him in the elevator.”

“I most certainly did not,” she snapped, turning her head to glare at her friend. “I in no way jumped him in the elevator.”

“Okay.” Tori waited a beat. “Did you wait until you got to your room or did he take you to his?”

To that, Ressa really had no response. Oh, she could have lied, but there was no way she’d be able to pull it off, not when the need for him was rippling through her, a need that was growing stronger and stronger—damn it, she was supposed to have gotten him out of her system.

Instead, that need was worse.

“I don’t believe this. The man spends most of his career tucked up in his cave and the one time he ventures out, you end up doing him.” Tori shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m jealous or just in awe.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ressa unlocked her trunk and shoved her bag inside. One hand braced on the trunk’s lid, she looked at Tori. “Do you want to make it to the airport or not?”

“So did you get his number?”

Can I call you?

Now that ache in her chest spread. Eyes closed, she braced her forehead on her bicep. “Tori, can we just let this go, please?”

“Hey . . .”

When Tori brushed a hand down her arm, the knot in her throat grew larger and, to her horror, she thought she just might cry. She managed to fight it back, shoving all that misery down the way she always did.

“What’s wrong? Did he just up and leave right after? Shit, he’s not lousy in bed, is he?”

Ressa snorted. “If he was, trust me, I wouldn’t be sitting here miserable. It was . . .” Now she found herself smiling, and she realized this was the first time in her life she truly understood the term bittersweet. “Ever had one perfect night?”

“Maybe.” Tori shoved long brown hair back over her narrow shoulders, then she grinned. “But if I have, I was too drunk to remember it the next day.”

Sighing, Ressa looked up and smiled. “It was probably the closest to perfect I’ll ever know. But that’s all it was. One perfect night.”

Chapter Thirteen

Hands slid smooth and agile down his chest. Followed by a warm, seeking mouth. Crazy, wild curls trailed over his skin and he let his instincts guide him. He fisted a hand in her hair as she continued to move lower, lower . . .

When she closed her mouth around the head of his cock, Trey groaned, arching up.

The snarl that ripped out of him was choked and harsh, so ragged, he barely recognized the sound of his own voice.

Don’t stop . . .

He tried to say the words.

Maybe he did and just couldn’t hear it over the roar and rush of blood.

Don’t . . .

Her laugh teased his ears as she lifted up and trailed a hand up his thigh. I won’t. I’m having too much fun.

Music crashed, cutting through the dream. Trey jolted and then sat upright in bed. The dream fell to pieces around him as he looked around the room.

It had been a month since New Jersey—over a month since he’d seen . . . tasted . . . touched . . . Ressa.

He still dreamed about her.

The theme song from Buffy the Vampire Slayer was blaring from his phone. The display had one simple word on it, and while maybe it wasn’t exactly the apocalypse, he felt like he needed to gear up for battle.

Grabbing the phone, he studied the display for a second longer and then silenced the alarm.

School.

Clayton started school today.

It was six in the morning, still too early to get Clayton up. He had wanted it that way. He needed to get his head clear, brace himself. Psych himself up or something.

The phone rang as he finished up in the bathroom and he answered with a sigh. “You realize that I can handle this myself, Mommy.”

“Fuck you,” Travis said easily. “How’s my boy doing?”

Trey smiled despite the stress that tried to chew him up inside. “Excited. If I could work up even a tenth of Clay’s excitement—hell, a hundredth of it, I’d be doing just fine with this.”

“Today will be the worst. I . . . uh. Well, I had plans to be there, maybe drag you out to breakfast or something, but work wouldn’t let me off. Bunch of dickheads.”

“It’s cool, Travis. I got this.” He moved to the window, staring out at the eastern horizon. He loved this spot—had spent many mornings just here, watching as the colors bled from deep purple to pink then gold as the sun rose higher. With one arm braced on the cool glass of the window, he stared outside. “Much as I appreciate it, you can’t always be there to hold my hand.”

Silence caught, hung there. Then Travis blew out a heavy breath. “Fuck, Trey. You’ve spent the past few years shutting down more and more. Don’t act like you haven’t. I feel it. I just . . . you’re scaring me. And don’t try to lie to me about this. I—”

“Travis. I’m okay.” He cut his twin off. Turning away from the window, he moved to his dresser and stared at the gold ring that had rested there for the past few weeks. He’d put it on for the trip home, but since then, it had rested in that very spot.

The need to put it back on any time he ventured outside, whether it was to the library, to the grocery, or even those monthly trips to church with Aliesha’s folks, was going away.

He could handle life without that shield.

He’d even handled a few mild flirtations—not on his side—without feeling like he needed to bolt.

And maybe it was just because he needed it, but it seemed the ghosts that hung around him were a little lighter.

Of course, there was a ghost haunting him. We had a good night but . . .

“Trey—”

“I’m okay.” He touched the ring. “I took my ring off. I was out running and this cute blonde started asking me about my tattoo. I didn’t turn into an Olympic sprinter in my desperation to get away. I ran into a woman in the produce aisle and she asked me for my name and I didn’t bolt.”

“Did you give her your name?”

Trey winced. “My name, yeah. But when she asked for my number . . . well. I wasn’t interested.”

*   *   *

Travis scraped his nails across the growth of stubble on his face. If he hadn’t been laid up in a hospital bed, he’d be on the other side of the Atlantic—and that had him pissed. He was more pissed off about the fact that he was laid up dealing with blood loss than the fact that he’d been shot two days ago.

Damn, but he wanted out.

He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back in the States.

He’d wanted to be there for his twin. Had been prepared to talk Trey through this. But oddly enough, he wasn’t feeling all that conflict he’d expected to feel. He eased up on the choke chain he’d lived with and realized something was . . . different, very different with his twin.

Normally Trey felt like a barren landscape.

“You are okay,” he murmured.

“No.” Trey’s voice was honest.

“Fuck, man.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, he tried to put his finger on just what it was he felt. There was something. He could feel it. “Did you . . . hey, you finally went out with your librarian, didn’t you?”

“No.” Trey laughed and the sound was bitter, humorless. “No. That didn’t work out.”

“Okay.” He frowned, tried to figure it out. “What is it then? Something’s different with you. You feel . . . hell, you . . . aren’t as empty.”

“I’m not,” Trey said, his voice blunt. “I can’t say I’m back to normal, but I’m getting there. I’ve got a promise to keep. You, though . . . man . . .”

Trey went quiet.

Travis braced himself, the lie already there.

But Trey just sighed. “Something’s up with you, I think. Let me know when you’re ready to stop holding back on me. Listen, I gotta go. I need coffee if I’m going to get through the morning.”

*   *   *

Brooding, Trey took that coffee out to the pergola, watching as the early morning sunlight glinted off the pool. It was early yet, but despite the coolness of the morning, he didn’t bother going inside for a shirt as he sat there and continued his brood.

A faint ache still lingered in his side, although it didn’t come from him.

More than once, he’d dealt with this from his twin, although it had been less and less over the years.

He wouldn’t pry. Hadn’t then, wouldn’t now. But damn if he didn’t want his twin to stop holding back from him. Especially when shit like this happened.

The door creaked open behind him. Slowly. Although the coffee was still fairly hot, he took a healthy swig and swallowed gamely before leaning forward. Still acting all nice and casual, he put it down, taking care to nudge it far out of reach before he leaned back and laced his hands behind his head.

With a lusty sigh, he waited.

His internal clock told him he still had a good fifteen minutes before he’d planned to wake up Clayton.

That didn’t matter.

The floorboards shifted as the boy crept closer.

He managed not to grin.

Lowering his lashes, he waited.

Then—oomph—

“First day of school! First day of school!”

He caught Clayton before the kid could drive that knee any farther up into sensitive parts of his anatomy. Flipping Clayton onto his back, he stared down into eyes as blue as his own. “What?” he asked, although his ears were still ringing from Clayton’s screech.

“First day of school!”

“I think you’ve watched Finding Nemo too many times.” Hauling Clayton up for a hug, Trey sighed, taking a minute to just . . . enjoy. Clayton was still all warm from his bed and he smelled like the soap he’d scrubbed with last night. “I think your calendar is off. School starts next week, I bet. Besides, you can’t be going to school already. You’re not old enough.”

“I’m almost six years old, Dad. I should have started last year.” Clayton wiggled free and moved around until skinny, sharp knees were driving into Trey’s thighs.

“Nah. Besides, you didn’t turn five until it was too late to sign you up. I remember, they told me. Still I’m not sure you’re old enough. Maybe I should call and check . . .” He fixed his face into his best thinking expression. “And I’m sure it’s not this week.”

“And it is too this week. You reminded me last night and made me go to bed early. Did you forget?”

Trey scrunched his face, thought harder.

Then he sighed. “I guess maybe I did. Since you seem pretty certain it’s today, I reckon we ought to deal with breakfast and stuff, right?”

“Right.” A sly look crept across Clayton’s face. “Since it’s school and all, that’s like a special day. I bet it’s even special enough for chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Nice try.” Amused, he stood up, hooking his arm around the boy and then swinging him around until Clayton was on his back. “We can talk chocolate chips on the weekend. How about some plain waffles instead? I can whip those up in half the time.”

*   *   *

Six a.m.

Ressa studied her phone after she’d turned off the alarm. With a sigh, she went to her notifications and eyed her schedule for the day.

She had to get Neeci up and off to her first day at school and Ressa had a late day at the library. Her mother was helping out on the late nights—they’d worked it out a while ago and it was going to have to suffice, but days like today would suck because she might not see her bed until eleven or later. She still had work to get done on the blog, once she had Neeci settled.

Already she was tired, which sucked because she had to be at work at her regular time tomorrow.

I can do this, she told herself, and she knew she could. The words had been her mantra ever since she’d taken over guardianship of her niece back when Neeci was a baby. Neeci had needed a stable life and Ressa was the only person who could offer it. She loved the little girl like she was her own, but there were too many days when she found herself questioning things—like whether or not she was equipped for the job that had been thrust upon her.

Child, nobody is ever equipped for the things they find themselves doing . . . you just do the best you can. Words Mama Ang had told her, years ago, rose to steady her as she sat up. Yeah, the best she could do. She could do this.

With that in mind, she dismissed the notifications and went to the calendar on her phone. She couldn’t function without her agenda.

A series of notifications, an alert from her voicemail, and a list of the calls she’d missed came up.

She grimaced when she saw that her cousin Kiara had called.

Kiara, Neeci’s mom.

Once, Ressa had thought Kiara was like her guardian angel. She ended up being more like an albatross. Ressa loved her dearly and she knew Kiara loved her, but it was a poisoned, toxic sort of love.

It was the same kind of love Ressa had had for her father.

The same kind of love Ressa was determined to keep away from Neeci.

She had to wonder what Kiara wanted. She never called over anything good. Kiara either wanted money or a favor or to see Neeci, and that always ended up with the girl crying and despondent for days on end.

Doubt gnawed at her, but she deleted the voicemail without listening. She’d seen Kiara a few weeks ago. She had plans to see her again in a few weeks on her birthday, and Neeci would see her, too. If it was important, Kiara could call again, or write. Morse code . . . something.

She tossed the phone down and climbed out of bed, determined to face the day without dread.

Or with as little dread as possible.

After all, it wasn’t every day her little cousin started school.

*   *   *

“I wish Mama was here.”

Flicking a look up, Ressa met Neeci’s gaze in the reflection. “I know, baby.”

“Granny Ang is picking me up, right? She won’t forget?”

“No.” Ressa managed not to chuckle. Like Angeline would ever forgot Neeci. She’d never forget her baby. “She won’t forget you.”

“Why can’t you pick me up?” Neeci demanded.

“Because I’m working, sugar. You know that.”

“That’s stupid. They can just let you come home. For today.” Neeci dropped her head—or tried to—onto the bathroom counter. “Ouch!”

“Be still.” Ressa figured she’d told her cousin that five times in the past five minutes. In fifteen minutes or so, they’d be done—the good news was that they wouldn’t have to do this every day. The bad news, well, it didn’t matter to a five-year-old that you only had to deal with your hair like this every week—or less—the five-year-old still wasn’t going to go for being still.

“I hate getting my hair done.” Neeci stood there, her lip poking out and her bright eyes miserable.

Ressa’s heart broke a little and she put the brush down. Sitting down on the toilet, she smoothed Neeci’s bangs to the side. “We’re almost done,” she promised. “Come on now. Aren’t you excited for your first day of school?”

Neeci’s gaze darted away and she shrugged, one small shoulder jerking up and down. Then she brought her hand up to her mouth, automatically going to poke her thumb inside.

“We’re not doing that anymore.”

“I bet Mama wouldn’t care,” Neeci said, mumbling around the thumb even as Ressa went to pull her hand down.

Finally succeeding, Ressa cocked a brow. “Maybe she wouldn’t, but she’s not here and she’s not in charge. I am. Besides,” she said, shifting into a no-nonsense tone. “Think about all the stuff you’ll be touching at school. Desks and doors and chairs . . . everything you touch, somebody else touched. So if you touch whatever they touched and then stick your thumb in your mouth like that, baby, you’ve got those nasty germs in your mouth.”

“What kinda germs?” Neeci wrinkled her nose.

“Gross kinds. What if somebody picked up used gum from the ground? Or went to the bathroom and didn’t wash their hands? That’s just nasty.”

Neeci’s eyes rounded and she looked down at her hands. As those hands crept back behind her back, Ressa bit back a smile. Neeci had never much liked germs.

With a sigh, Neeci leaned in and rested her head on Ressa’s shoulder. “What if nobody likes me? What if I don’t make friends? I had a couple of friends at preschool, but none of them go here. What if I never make another friend my whole life?”

“Oh, honey.” Now her heart was twisting and turning all over. Pulling her cousin into her lap, she hugged her. There was nothing the girl could have said that would have hit home harder. “Neeci, there is absolutely no reason you shouldn’t make friends. You’re funny and you’re nice and you like people. All you have to do is be nice and you’ll find people who like you.”

Neeci was quiet for a minute. “But you’re funny, and you’re nice. You like people. But you had all kinds of problems getting people to like you. I heard you talk about how you didn’t have many friends in college and you didn’t have a lot in school either, and the friends you did have was trouble. What if I’m like that?”

“Were trouble,” she corrected automatically, even as she thought about little ears. Just what had she been talking about and what had Neeci overheard?

There wasn’t an easy answer to this, was there?

“I didn’t make friends all that well, you’re right,” she said slowly. “We’ve talked about this, Neeci, you and making friends. We’ve talked about it a lot. Yeah, I did some bad things growing up and I hung out with bad kids. I did stupid things that could have gotten me in trouble.”

“And your daddy was an asshole.”

“Neeci!” Ressa glared at her in the mirror.

“I heard Granny Ang say it,” Neeci said defensively.

“What Granny Ang says and what you can say are two different things.” Ressa blew out a breath and shrugged aside the knee-jerk instinct to defend her father. Not only was he past the point of needing defending, he also had been an asshole. A terrible father, even if he had loved her in his own twisted way. Bad people can still love. That doesn’t make it healthy—for anybody. “My father wasn’t a good man, no. He did stupid things and made bad choices, but that doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m telling you. I made my own choices, too. And once I started making better choices, sweetie, I made better friends. I found people who liked me.”