She let out a tinkly-bel laugh.

Shirleen matched it with another burst of hilarity.

Shirleen matched it with another burst of hilarity.

I sat back, put my iced tea on a coaster, crossed my arms and legs, one foot bouncing with angry impatience and pul ed out The Glare.

“I don’t know what’s so f**king funny,” I said to them, and maybe it wasn’t worth the f-word and maybe I shouldn’t have confronted the likes of Daisy and Shirleen with the f-word, but I was feeling a bit ticked off. “You’l see. When this is al over he’l be gone like a shot.”

They took no notice of the f-word or my attitude. They burst into gales of laughter and if they’d started rol ing around the floor giggling, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

When they got control of themselves, Shirleen held out her hand to one of the hangers-on and snapped her fingers.

“Get me the phone, Wanda. I gotta cal Dorothea. This shit’s too good not to share.”

Wonderful.

“Dorothea?” Daisy asked, careful y wiping away a tear of humor, so as not to smudge her mascara.

Wanda handed Shirleen the phone.

“Darius’s mother. She’s gonna love this.” Her eyes came to me while she punched buttons with her thumb,

“What brand of coffee maker was it, girl?” I looked at the TV set.

“KitchenAid,” I muttered.

“Ooowee! No sil y-ass Mr. Coffee for Eddie Chavez.

When that boy does somethin’ he goes whole hog,” Shirleen hooted, putting the phone to her ear, “Dorothea?

You are not gonna believe this!”

Daisy giggled and I clenched my teeth.

My life sucked.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gray

I listened to Shirleen tel Darius’s mother about the coffee maker, clearly both of them appreciating the story a lot more than I ever would.

Then we watched Days of Our Lives.

Then Dorothea came over.

She was pretty, soft-spoken with eyes that went bright when she met me, then settled into what I suspected was a permanent sadness that she tried to hide but it didn’t work too well .

She wasn’t what I would expect a drug dealer’s mother would look like, she looked normal and kind, a lot like Darius looked when he wasn’t being scary.

We left, with Dorothea making me promise to tel everyone she said hel o and Shirleen making me promise to come back and watch Days of Our Lives with her and to keep her informed of any new kitchen appliances Eddie and I bought together.

Darius was long gone.

Matt was looking like he was going to ask for a raise.

Daisy took off the minute we got to Fortnum’s and I found out from Indy that Mom, Tex and Lottie were at our place for Mom’s PT, then they were going to hit the El Camino to cruise neighborhoods looking at apartments.

Jane and Duke went home and I cal ed Eddie.

No answer.

I left a message.

“Cal me.”

When I flipped my phone shut, I worried that I should have said good-bye or offered something witty and amusing. Then I spent awhile trying to think of witty and amusing things to say next time I had to leave a message for Eddie. Then I gave up because I wasn’t witty or amusing.

Indy and I closed the store and we were standing outside, locking the doors when something down the sidewalk caught Matt’s attention and he did the chin lift.

“Later,” he said and that might have been the first thing he said al day. Then he took off.

“Lee’s boys aren’t fond of bodyguard duty, they’re action men,” Indy explained.

I nodded and saw Hank walk up to us.

Hank was the same height as Eddie, maybe tal er by an inch. He had an athlete’s body, lean and muscled. He also had thick, dark brown hair and whisky-colored eyes. Hank wasn’t a badass, bad boy. Hank was the to-die-for boy-next-door. Hank was every mother’s dream and every girl’s wet dream. And, I had the sneaking suspicion Hank was my next bodyguard.

Indy greeted him and I stared at him.

“You got Jet Duty?” Indy asked.

Hank cut his eyes to me.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t sound happy about it.

Indy laughed and looked at me.

“Don’t take it personal y. Last time Hank played bodyguard, I led him to a pot farm and it was on al three networks. Don’t ask, I’l tel you later.” She gave me a hug and took off.

I stood there and looked up at him, feeling uncomfortable.

“What now?” I asked.

“Dinner,” he answered, took my arm and guided me down the sidewalk to a black Toyota 4Runner that was parked on the street. His head was up, his eyes alert.

“Um… where’s Eddie? I cal ed him…”

“Eddie’s busy,” Hank replied, bleeping open the doors and walking into the street to escort me to the passenger side.

“Busy with what? The meeting with Marcus?” He looked at me.

“That’s later.”

“How much later?”

“A lot later,” he said.

He opened the door for me.

Guess that was al I was going to learn about Eddie’s plans for the evening.

I got in, he did too. He pul ed out and started driving.

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” I said to the windscreen, feeling weird. I’d been around Hank, a lot, but never alone.

And anyway, Al y said he thought I was hot. What did I do with that?

“Everyone’s gotta eat dinner, might as well do it with a pretty girl, even if she is a friend’s woman.” Yeesh. The w-word.

* * * * *

He took me to Bonnie Brae Tavern, a no-nonsense family business on University Boulevard that hadn’t changed in seventy years. It specialized in pizza that some would come to blows about if you told them it wasn’t the best in Denver. I preferred Famous.

I wasn’t going to tel Hank that.

Luckily, they had a greasy spoon menu that hadn’t changed in seventy years either. There was a lot of choice and most of it was damn good.

We settled in a green booth, the plethora of neon beer and Colorado sports team signs providing Denver atmosphere. I ordered a Reuben. Hank ordered a cheeseburger. Then I checked my phone.

“Expecting a cal ?” Hank asked, sitting back, arm stretched out along his side of the booth, watching me.

“I left a message for Eddie,” I said.

“May be awhile before he gets back to you.” I nodded.

Hmm.

Dilemma.

See, first, I didn’t have a lot of experience conversing with hot guys. well , I guess I was amassing experience lately but mostly arguing with Eddie when we weren’t ha**ng s*x or when I was in the middle of a life and death situation.