It didn’t matter. The last guy I had kissed was named Peter. That had been a little more than a year ago. We were together for five months. I’d liked him. He’d liked me. We could have loved each other, but Vince had found out I had a boyfriend and that had been that. He snuck up on Peter in a parking lot and smashed his face in with a crowbar,
I broke up with Peter when he got out of the hospital. I was toxic. His broken nose was my fault.
He didn’t say any of that. I did.
“You know the way out.”
“Past the, ah . . .” He jerked his finger toward the front and took a step away, smiling. “Bank of cameras.”
“That supposed to be funny?”
I was acting like a bitch, but mentioning the cameras meant I was too much trouble. Crazy ex. Superfamous best friend. The maintenance costs of a girl like me were huge.
This wasn’t even the first reason I kept away from men. I was a danger magnet. Peter hadn’t gotten his dick cut off, but it might have only been a matter of time.
“I think the pot made me grumpy.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, tiny dancer.”
A smile crossed his lips when he coined the new nickname. I didn’t know if I was irritated with the name or the smile.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
He was gone a second later, and I was alone.
CHAPTER 11
CARTER
I could have kissed her longer. At least all night and into the next day, but I’d promised to look in on Vince.
Deep in Glendale, just north of Mountain, stood a house shaped like one cracker box stacked on another. You could barely see the 1920s Craftsman it used to be. It had been built to two stories, siding removed and stuccoed over. Windows taken out and filled in to fit Home Depot standard vinyl. Bathroom tile on the steps leading into the closed-in porch. The entire property had been paved in beige concrete so two black BMWs could park in the front yard.
The garage was in the back, and on the night I kissed Emily, the rolling door was open. I could see the whole yard down the driveway. A set of metal prefab steps went up the side of the house to a door on the second floor. My guess was that was his way in and out of his room. A few guys were milling around with beers, poking sticks into a barbecue. I couldn’t hear what they were saying between bold laughs and steaming vapes.
Carlos had sent me a picture of Vince, and I spotted him right away. Five ten. Shaped like a loaf of Wonder Bread. Goatee. Backward baseball cap. White sneakers. Nylon shorts falling just below the knees.
I’d figured she was out of this guy’s league, but I’d had no idea just how far.
One guy kept pacing around even though there was a chair. He was about six four, maybe a hundred sixty, all bones and skin. Bald head. Adam’s apple as big and knobby as his elbows. The others looked like Vince, more or less. Dressed like adolescents and built as if they’d spent time at the gym but skipped leg days.
I took license plate numbers. Checked for security. Watched as the upstairs lights in the house went on and off and stayed until the guys left and it was only Vince with his goatee and backward baseball cap. He lowered the garage door.
He looked at his phone on the way inside.
Was he texting her?
I couldn’t call and ask her. Not after that stupid kiss.
That fantastic kiss.
But stupid.
When the house was dark, I went home.
I had a two-story Craftsman. Rock solid.
When I’d bought the house in Hancock Park, I had a single priority. The best school district in the city. And by the city, I wasn’t talking about Studio City north of the hills or deep south El Segundo by the airport. I meant in the middle.
I needed a house in the middle of the city or nowhere. Being a bodyguard meant I had to travel from the water to Pomona, from San Diego to the Angeles National. I didn’t want to live too far in one direction.
Also, the people I lived with had opinions. Irritating opinions, but in the case of the location of the house, the opinions fell into line with mine. Which was unusual.
I pulled the car up to the garage door and entered the house from the side.
The door wasn’t locked.
Jesus fucking Christ, guys.
I opened the door to the kitchen. The breakfast nook was loaded with activity books, puzzle pieces, Lego creations that made their own kind of sense. A half-finished cell phone case made with a 3D pen.
The counters were clean but cluttered, and the fridge was covered with pictures, drawings, and a prescription that still hadn’t been filled.
“You’re late.”
She stood in the doorway in a T-shirt and yoga pants. Slim for her age but well put together. She dyed her hair chestnut brown and had it blown out twice a week on Larchmont. She never had a hard time getting a date.
“You didn’t lock the door, Ma.”
“I thought you’d be coming through it sooner.” She snapped the lock shut. “He misses you when you’re out late, and for the love of Pete, call me Brenda.”
“He hates me.” I grabbed her and kissed her on the cheek. “You gonna get his pills?”
She waved her arm as if swatting a fly. Three fingers had rings stacked on rings.
“You’re such a Boy Scout. We have three days left. Take it easy.”
“You could just have the doctor call it in.”
“I barely trust that guy to take his temperature.”
“He’s a psychiatrist. He—”
“He hacked into Jerry’s Wi-Fi again.”
The “he” in question wasn’t the psychiatrist. It was the little coder in the house, and Jerry was our neighbor.
“How was he even sitting at a computer?”
“He had homework to do, Mr. Boss. You want him to do homework on paper, you can take him out of Swanky School.”
“You have to unhook the router.”
“I did. Ask him how he did it. Do you want coffee, or are you going to bed?”
My mother hadn’t slept in fourteen years, and whatever sleep disease she had was genetic. We were night creatures.
“Bed.” I kissed her on the cheek again. “See you tomorrow.”
She turned the gas on under the coffeepot. “Yeah. Sweet and sour dreams, kid.”
I checked to make sure the doors and windows were locked, put the schoolbag where it went, the shoes on the shoe rack, the jackets on the hooks, and went upstairs.
I checked his workroom at the end of the hall. The computer wasn’t off, and the floor was coated in a spray of Legos. I knew they had a logic, and if I put them away I’d hear it. I went to his bedroom.
“Phin,” I said in the doorway.
“Hey,” came a muffled voice. “How was it?”
“How was what?”
“Whatever you were doing.”
I sat on the edge of his bed. Phin’s whole name was Phinnaeus, of course, because his mother wanted to fit into the mold of the Hollywood star. I’d had to talk her out of naming him Huckleberry.
Phin was wrapped up in a fourteen-pound compression blanket. Having weight on him made him feel contained. He’d struggled with ADHD and sensory issues his entire thirteen years. Little things like a heavy blanket and tight shirts made a big difference.
“How was school? Did you talk about inclusion and love all day?”