“Who need an ass whoopin’.”
Wow, look at the geek go all ghetto. “I’d have never guessed you were this easily riled, Clyde. Wasn’t it you who said you were tame?”
He shrugged his wide pink shoulders. “Oh, I don’t care what they say about me, it’s all the wondering what your ass looks like that I object to.”
Delaney’s eyes instantly narrowed in the boys’ direction as they whispered and laughed.
Thug motherfuckers.
When the bus stopped, Delaney rose with caution, but Clyde nudged her along, sliding behind her, placing one hand at the small of her back and the other on her shoulder. Passing the group, she grew tense, her steps stilted. Yet Clyde’s strong, quiet presence urged her forward.
As they reached the stairs one kid leaned over the seat and muttered just loud enough for them to hear, “Man, I’d so tap that.” His friends chuckled with conspiratorial snorts.
“Tap this, you rude little shit,” Clyde growled under his breath, raising his index finger and pointing it at the boy’s backpack, resting at his feet. A spark shot from his digit, lancing the pack and creating a puff of gray, sooty smoke, leaving each boy blissfully speechless.
“Wow, nice aim, huh?” He chuckled the words low in her ear when they took the last step onto the sidewalk. “I’m getting pretty good at that,” he said with arrogance, then tripped into her back, knocking her forward with a lurch.
Whirling around, Delaney poked a finger at his shoulder. “Are you fucking nuts? You can’t do stuff like that, Clyde—not in public. What if you get caught?”
Clyde pulled his foot up to knee level, rubbing the toe he’d apparently stubbed. “By a bunch of teenagers? Who’d believe them, anyway?”
“No, what if someone else saw that, like the bus driver? It’s bad enough you’re in a pink bathrobe, barefoot, wandering around New York like some homeless-shelter reject, but shooting fireballs from your fingers just might be the noose for your thick neck. You don’t need to draw any more attention to yourself—so knock it the hell off and quit showing off your demonic prowess.” She pivoted on her heel, marching toward the deli where she picked up her and Kellen’s lunch every Sunday.
Clyde’s footsteps slapped against the pavement as he followed behind with big, klunky feet. At the deli’s door, she faced him, caring little that people milled about the sidewalk, casting confused glances their way. “Now, I’m going in to grab a fried tofu and watercress salad. You want one, too?”
He made a face at her, clearly not at all bothered by the fact that people were eyeing him like he was a sociopath loose on a day pass from the funny farm with his nurse. “A fried tofu salad? I can’t think of anything less appealing. But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate a pastrami on rye, extra brown mustard. I only like the brown mustard.”
“All that fat and protein will clog up your arteries, Clyde Atwell.”
His expression was deadpan. “I have no arteries, Delaney Markham.”
Oh. Yeah. Dead. “Fine. Eat dead animal. Now, here’s the score. Don’t move from this spot,” she ordered, pointing to the cracked, lumpy pavement. “In fact, stand over there by the side of the building and hold on tight so the next time I turn around you’re not up my ass. Feel me? We don’t need the Sunday lunch crowd mocking and pointing.”
But Clyde wasn’t looking at her, his eyes, sharp and clear behind his glasses, were focused on the interior of the deli.
“Yooo-hooo, demon light? Pay attention.” When he didn’t stop gawking, Delaney turned to see what he was so enraptured with. The fingerprint-smudged glass gave her a direct view to the deli counter, where a long line had formed. “Clyde? What’s wrong?”
He pointed a finger at the glass, right between the O and the L in O’Leary’s. “Tia.”
“Who-a?”
“Tia.”
“And Tia is . . . ?”
“My girlfriend.”
nine
Enter Tia.
The ridiculously, sickly hawt Tia. Just what they freakin’ needed to make this day perfection. “Where?” she asked dumbly, hoping against hope it wasn’t the hot broad with the bod of steel.
“Right there.” He pointed over her head.
Her stomach sank in defeat. “Who is she again?”
“She’s my girlfriend, er, ex-girlfriend, er, whatever she is to me now that I’m dead.”
Right. He’d mentioned a Tia in one of their conversations. Delaney turned fully, gazing into the packed deli. “Which one?”
“There. The one with the short, platinum blonde hair, the clingy, light blue dress, and white heels.”
The one with the ass so pert and tight you could crack hard-shelled nuts on it by dropping them from above her prone body? Well, of course she was Tia.
Tia, Tia, Tia.
Neener, neener, neener.
Whooooah, sistah.