Which was fine. Because neither did she.
He lifted his fingers to a button on her shirt. It was a plaid button-down, fitted, hot pink and black and white plaid with some really cool embroidery on the sleeves in the shape of fleur-de-lis. She’d paired it with short black shorts that barely covered her thighs and tall wedge black sandals.
“Hang for lunch,” he said, dropping his arm to his side.
“I have to work.”
“Laptop’s here.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Asher.”
“Sarge.” He drew in a breath through his nose and blew it out. Then his hands were on her waist, dragging her close, and he dropped his head to hers. She waited for a conversation to start or for him to tell her she was being difficult and cranky, which would start an argument, but he said nothing. Just stood there, eyes closed, forehead on hers, and held her.
So she lifted her arms and circled his neck.
“Why don’t I get the pizza when it gets here,” she said.
He opened his eyes.
“The room is soundproof. You’ll never hear the bell.”
“You have to work,” he said.
“Laptop’s here.”
A smile nudged his mouth and dropped quickly. She lifted to her toes and kissed him, just a soft kiss of greeting that she hadn’t been able to give him when she got here because they had an audience of three.
He tweaked her chin with his thumb and reached for his wallet, dropping a few large bills on the counter. “That’ll cover tip, too,” he said. Then he watched her for a second. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” she said.
He said no more, leaving her and Tank to shut himself in the studio with the guys.
“Just you and me, pooch,” she told Tank. Then she sat on the couch next to the dog and pulled out her laptop.
*
The doorbell rang at four o’clock, and Glo finished typing and put her laptop aside, sliding the stack of cash from the countertop to pay the delivery guy. But when she opened Asher’s front door, she saw it wasn’t the pizza guy.
It wasn’t even a guy.
The woman on the other side of the threshold had chin-length dark brown hair and stood a few inches taller than Gloria. The other woman’s brown eyes were sharp, her lips a firm red line.
If she didn’t look like she was in her fifties, Glo might wonder if she was a groupie who’d crashed band practice.
“And you are?” The woman’s eyebrows craned as she eyed Gloria up and down, and then she blinked the slowest blink ever. Gloria did the same, inspecting the other woman’s outfit. She was dressed in a slim, fitted pair of black pants and a white shirt tied in a knot at her trim waist. In one hand, a black clutch.
“Who I am isn’t your concern until I know who you are,” Gloria announced coolly. She should be the one asking the questions, considering she was the one standing inside Asher’s house.
The other woman lifted her chin and eyed Gloria down the slope of her perfect nose. “If you’re a groupie, I suggest you tell my son to put his pants on because his mother’s at the door. I’m not going to pretend I approve of this sort of thing, but I know he’s into pleasing the ladies and all I have to say is that it just figures because his father is incredibly good in bed as well.” She delivered this speech calmly and Gloria once again tracked her eyes down and back up again.
Mother.
“Oh my God,” Gloria said.
Right then, the pizza guy appeared on the walk. “Hey,” he announced; then his face fell as he took in the stance of the two women on either side of the door. “Uh…I have a supreme deluxe, supreme veggie, a pepperoni and banana peppers, a Hawaiian—”
“Yes, here you go. Keep the change.” Gloria thrust the cash into the guy’s hands, took all five pies from him, and smiled at Asher’s mother. “Come in, Mrs. Knight. You can share my pizza if you like spinach and artichokes and hot peppers.”
Gloria turned to put the pizzas on the counter, hearing the door close and the slap of flip-flops as the older woman made her way into the kitchen. She turned to face the other woman, arm out, hand offered. “Gloria Shields, I’m—”
Before she could get any more out, Asher’s mother raised her arms and laughed. One sharp ha!. Then she wrapped Gloria in the kind of hug that was reserved only for people Glo had known for a minimum of twelve months. A big, tight one. She patted the woman’s shoulders with her fingertips awkwardly.
“Elana Knight,” Asher’s mom said, holding Gloria at arm’s length. “I’m so glad you’re not one of those bitches I usually find in his house and have to shoo out so I can come in.”
Usually. Gloria winced, even though she didn’t mean to.
“Oh. Shit.” Elana’s face fell. “I’ve spoken out of turn. I thought you two were—”
Gloria didn’t get to hear the end of that sentence because the door to the studio popped open and Shiff bellowed, “Lanie!”
One by one, the band filed out and embraced “Lanie.” They all seemed to know her, even Broderick.