Utter mortification washed over me. I pushed away from him, away from the blistering heat of his hold, the fierce strength of it. Darting around Osh, I rushed out of the restroom and back to the station, wondering one thing and one thing only: How did they know each other, and what were they arguing about?
Okay, that was two things. Perhaps I wasn’t a mathematician after all.
5
I don’t think I could ever complete anyone.
But driving someone insane sounds doable.
—INTERNET MEME
The men came out a couple of minutes after I did. Garrett paid and stalked out, his anger leaving me winded, but Osh and Reyes stayed behind. Osh took Garrett’s booth, while Reyes went back to his own. They didn’t look at each other. Didn’t speak. But I suddenly had the feeling that was all for show.
Yet, what show? Why would I care if they knew each other?
Unless…
I narrowed my lashes and looked at them through the menacing slits created by my lids. Maybe I was really the daughter of a billionaire and they were planning to kidnap me for ransom. Two of the three would-be abductors were only part human. They probably had really bad ethics.
“He lives at the Hometown Motel.”
I turned to Francie, then grabbed a wet towel to wipe down the prep station.
She pressed her lips together in amusement, her pale skin luminous beneath her bouncy red hair, and followed me. She was holding a phone and scrolling through pictures as she spoke. “Reyes. He lives at the Hometown. You know, that motel on Howard? It’s a couple of blocks over.”
I knew it. I walked by it at least twice a day to and from work. It was right down the street from my apartment. It wasn’t exactly the Waldorf, but what did I care? He was a strapping young man with a menacing scowl. He’d be fine.
I knew better than to ask. I knew it was what she wanted, but my curiosity got the better of me. “How do you know where he’s staying?”
She grinned and leaned into me as though we’d been best friends since grade school. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” The implications were crystal clear, and yet I wasn’t sure I believed her. She seemed a little too desperate for my reaction. When she got none, she added, “His room has navy carpet and a blue-and-gold bedspread. It’s all very manly.”
That time I flinched. What made it worse was that she saw.
Erin walked up then, her long blond hair pulled up into a messy bun. She didn’t want to be that close to me, but apparently the phone in Francie’s hand was hers.
“She is so cute, Erin,” Francie said, scrolling through more pictures. “Isn’t she cute?”
Much to Erin’s chagrin, Francie held out the phone for me to see. I knew she’d recently had a baby, but that was about it.
I leaned over to look at the phone and a jolt of shock rocketed through me. I gasped and threw a hand over my mouth before catching myself. They were playing a prank, and I’d fallen for it like a drunk with vertigo.
But they weren’t laughing. If anything, Erin was ready to scratch my eyes out. Even Francie was appalled. The scowl on her face could scrub the ring off a toilet.
Erin jerked the phone away from Francie and stalked off. Francie shot razors at me before leaning in and saying softly, “You’re a bitch.”
I blinked, utterly confused. My heart was still racing. I didn’t get it. What they showed me was not a picture of a baby but a picture of a decomposing elderly woman, her toothless mouth open as though she were screaming into the phone, her eyes solid white, almost glowing.
What the bloody hell?
And what made matters worse was the fact that my dramatics attracted the attention of one Mr. Reyes Farrow. He eyed me from underneath his lashes, his brows drawn in concern.
“Hey,” Lewis said from the pass-out window. “What was that about?”
Embarrassed for the twelve hundredth time that day, I picked up the coffeepot. “I have no idea,” I said under my breath, just before stalking off. It was trending, after all.
After filling the cups of several customers, I made my way toward Cookie’s husband. Unfortunately, I had to deal with Mark and Hershel along the way. They were still there.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked them.
“I wouldn’t mind a piece of that ass,” Mark said.
“Really? There are actually people like you in the world? For reals?”
“Oh, I’m real, sweetheart.”
I jutted out a hip and slapped my palm onto it. “This is unbelievable. I mean, I’ve heard stories, but I just thought you guys were an urban legend. You know, like that one where the couple is making out in the woods and they hear a sound and the guy gets out to check and the girl is all alone and she hears this drip and she looks and it’s the blood of her boyfriend dripping from a tree branch overhead and she screams and gets back in the car and races away and when she gets home the cops find a bloody hook stuck in the door handle.” How the fuck could I remember shit like that and I couldn’t remember my own name? It was so wrong.
My soliloquy didn’t faze him. “You got the legend part right.”
Out of all that, that’s what he came away with. “Can I take your picture? I have to post this on one of those sites that has photos of UFOs and Sasquatch. Otherwise no one will believe me.”
“You done being a smartass?” he asked me. It was a legitimate question.
I thought about it. Shook my head. “Prolly not. Can I get you some more coffee?”
He grunted.
I filled their cups and pretended not to notice the scent of alcohol wafting off them. They must’ve brought their own stash. The Firelight Grill didn’t serve alcohol.
Apparently Mark considered it his civic duty to give me a hard time. A girl could only take so many hateful digs filled with sexual innuendo before she snapped. I doubted Dixie would appreciate a lawsuit brought on by my dumping coffee on her customers’ heads.
After wishing them a good day, I moved on to Cookie’s husband, Bobert. Bobert’s real name was Robert, but the first time he’d come into the café, Cookie grew super nervous as she pointed him out. No idea why.
“His name is Bob… ert,” she’d said, turning away from me.
“Your husband’s name is Bobert?”
She turned back, laughing softly. Nervously. “Robert. I meant to say Robert, though a lot of people on the force called him Bob. I didn’t. Still don’t. Nope, he’s just plain old Robert to me. Except at home. Sometimes I call him Bob at home.”
That was a lot of explanation, but it didn’t allay the disappointment I felt at not knowing someone named Bobert. “Can I call him Bobert?”
A nervous laugh spilled out of her. “You can call him whatever you want. I have a feeling you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger in no time.”
Why would she say that? I decided to ask. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you, Janey Doerr, are a charmer.”
My spine straightened. A charmer. I’d take it.
“You could probably call him Pudding and he’d be fine with it. He’s going to adore you.”
I’d raised my chin in pride. “Really? You think he’ll adore me?” After tilting my head this way and that as he scooted into a booth, I added, “I mean, he is kinda hot.”