Mom, undeterred by us ignoring her offering, tilted the seeds into a waiting bowl and walked them to the coffee table. Once she set down the bowl, she started to gather up bags.
“Luke, be a sweetheart and get rid of these,” she said, shoving them into his arms and starting away before she realized he hadn’t actual y taken them.
I caught them before they fel to the floor and turned to Mom.
“Mom, I don’t mean to alarm you but Luke’s here to protect me, so you have to leave him alone so he can do…
whatever it is he does. What he doesn’t do is clean up, drink cocoa or chitchat. Okay?”
Mom slowly turned and looked at Luke with rounded eyes, then she nodded.
I twisted and said to Luke, “Come with me.” I shoved the bags in Mom’s arms, gave her a peck on the cheek then walked by her, through the kitchen and into Hank’s room.
Luke fol owed.
So did Shamus.
I closed the door and turned to him.
“I’m going to take a shower. You’re going to be good, try not to be sexy or freak me out or anything like that. I’ve got to concentrate, preparing for a formal party is serious business. I don’t need distractions.”
His eyes went half-mast and his half-grin appeared.
“You’re doing it!” I accused.
His eyebrows went up.
I shook my head. “Never mind.”
Then I stomped to the shower.
*
Over an hour later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. I’d had my shower, done my formal party makeup and was putting the finishing touches on my hair (loads of soft twists and up in a messy knot). I was wearing Hank’s bathrobe. My dress, undies, jewelry, purse and shoes had been gathered and were al lying on the bed next to Luke (wel , my undies were hidden under the dress, Luke didn’t need to get any ideas).
Luke seemed to have no problem slipping into a Luke Zen Zone, lying stretched on Hank’s bed, Shamus at his side, eyes closed, saying nothing but seeming total y alert.
I opened the door, expecting it to be Luke.
It wasn’t Luke. It was Hank.
Shit.
Before he could open his mouth, I said, “I’m sorry about your house.”
“Roxie –”
“I should have cal ed to warn you but I’m running late getting ready.”
“Roxie –”
“She’s doing it to be nice, to say thank you for al you’ve done.”
“Roxanne, let me –”
“She can be a little overpowering, I know, but I swear it isn’t normal y this bad. I think she’s worried about me but doesn’t want to say.”
“Roxanne –”
“We can move the stuff she bought to my new apartment when I find one and I’l get rid of the stuff at the front stoop the minute they leave.”
His hands shot out and grabbed me at the waist. He yanked me to him and his mouth came down on mine.
Then he kissed me deep.
When he lifted his head I was dizzy and had forgotten my place in my jabbering apologetic explanation of Mom’s craziness.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“To shut you up. You wouldn’t stop talking.”
“Oh.”
I probably should have been angry but I wasn’t. He was a good kisser and if I had to be shut up, that was a damn fine way to do it.
“I don’t mind about the house, it looks nice,” he told me.
“Okay.”
“And I don’t mind your parents. They’re interesting and they care about you.”
“Okay.”
“And we’l talk about your apartment later.” I blinked. “What?”
He shifted me to the side and moved into the bathroom.
“Are you done in the bathroom? I need to shower.” He bent over and pul ed off a boot, then twisted to throw it in the bedroom.
I watched it go, moving my body as the boot sailed by me. When I turned back, he did the same with the other boot.
“What about my apartment?” I asked.
“We’l talk about it later,” he replied.
He started to pul off his sweater but I grabbed his arms and stopped him.
He looked at me.
I felt something strange and unpleasant crawl along my skin.
“Don’t you want me to move to Denver?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah, I want you to move to Denver.”
I blinked at him again, confused. “Then, what about my apartment?” I repeated my question.
“Roxanne, we’l talk about it later.”
Then, it hit me. “As in, we’l have a ‘conversation’?” I asked, thinking about what Jet said earlier about Eddie’s chats and the fact that she’d moved in with him, making them the fastest relationship in history.
Hank stared at me as if he was considering checking my forehead to see if I had a fever.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Two people talking is the same as two people having a conversation.”
“Do you mean, a Hank Conversation? The kind with a capital ‘H’ and a capital ‘C’?”
His brows drew together. “Have you been drinking?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t been drinking!”
He sighed and straightened, giving me his ful attention.