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I walked into a disaster zone.
“What happened?” Reagan asked, clutching her book bag to her chest.
Shutting the door to my apartment with care, I took stock of my surroundings.
Open cabinets, dishes strewn about the countertops, some even upturned on the ground. Coffee mugs were stacked and leaning precariously against the fridge. And…was that blood smeared across the cabinets?
I sniffed. No. Tomato sauce. And burnt garlic.
Oh no.
Lara was cooking.
A clatter sounded to my left, and in walked Lara in a pink, frilly apron and high heels. “’Sup roomie!”
“Oh God.”
“Oh please,” Lara said, pointing at me with a wooden spoon. “You’ll love it in the end. I’m cooking Slade’s favorite. Spaghetti bologna.”
“Bolognese?”
More spoon pointing. “Yeah, that, fancy pants. Who are you?”
Reagan took a step back, still clutching her bag, her gaze darting from me to Lara.
I offered her a reassuring smile. Lara, with all her flair and big, red-lipsticked mouth, was an acquired taste. Either you grew to love her or you became afraid of her, and it was clear where Reagan stood.
“This is Reagan. Met her in class. She’s going to help me catch up.”
Lara stopped poking at the pasta in the boiling water to squint at me. “Already? It’s the first goddamned day.”
“Yes, well,” I said as I dropped my tote over the arm of the couch before walking into the open kitchen with Reagan trailing behind, “apparently orientation was important.”
“And here I thought summer school was all about drinking and partying and generally being an ass,” Lara said, going back to her poking.
“Not law school,” Reagan piped in, peering over Lara’s shoulder.
“Lame. Hey, when’s Slade going to be back?”
I shrugged, pulling cold bottle of wine from the fridge. “He must be still at practice.”
“Really?” Lara glanced at the stove clock before she shifted around me to tear through the produce drawers of the fridge. “Aren’t his practices usually done by now?”
Reagan jerked forward in an attempt to save the stack of coffee cups from falling off the counter as Lara pushed the door open further.
Lara noticed. “That’s totally not my fault. The mister and missus decided to put everything I needed in the back of their cabinets.”
Reagan nodded as if she understood, still holding onto the mugs as Lara went about her business.
I shrugged again, moving to the other side of the kitchen to grab the bottle opener. “Gearing up for the first game, I guess.”
“Huh.”
I paused in the uncorking to stare at Lara, though mainly I was staring at her ass as she continued to search for whatever it was she wanted. “What?”
Lara straightened and turned, holding a large bunch of spinach in one hand. “Nothing. So, hey, I was thinking about work. You know, what I’m going to do. I’m thinking nannying is the way to go.”
“You. Babysitting.”
“What? What’s the problem?”
Once again, the acrid smell of burning garlic wafted through the kitchen, and I pointed behind Lara at the stove. “That.”
Lara moved the frying pan off the burner, but not before saying, “Oh, so I burn garlic, and you think I’m going to scorch a child?”
I poured three healthy glasses of wine and turned my back to her, saying, “You burn vegetables, kill plants, and I’m not even going to discuss what happened to your cat.”
“One time,” Lara said, hands on hips with the spoon dripping pasta sauce on the floor. “One friggin’ time I turned away and the fuzzball got out the window. Who has an indoor cat when they live in a trailer? My mother, that’s who.”
I handed a glass to Lara and then to Reagan, who was pressed up against the counter on the opposite side. She shook her head, holding up a hand, and said, “None for me, thanks.”
After taking a healthy swill from her own glass, Lara surveyed Reagan. I glared at her in warning, but of course Lara ignored it. “You don’t drink?”
Reagan shook her head. “Not while studying.”
Lara didn’t comment, but when she went back to her cooking, it was a clear dismissal. For now, anyway.
“We’ll be in the office studying a bit,” I said to Lara. I gave her a goofy, cross-eyed face, and she pretended to overturn the sauce on me.
“Off you go, Brain.”
“Yell when dinner’s ready.”
“More importantly, I’ll yell when Slade’s home,” she replied before going back to her stirring.
Her tone was normal, but I looked twice at her anyway. I picked up my glass of wine and said, “Absolutely,” before tilting my head at Reagan and motioning for her to follow me into the study.
Once we made it into the overly white office, I shut the door and Reagan expelled a huge breath. “Holy crap, she’s something else.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, but in an affectionate way.
“So she lives with you and Ja—uh, Slade?”
“Sure does,” I said, grunting as I pulled out the heavy torts casebook from my bag. There was a reason Lara came to the other side of the country with me. We’d been there for each other since fifth grade, and that wasn’t about to stop now. “Eventually she wants to find her own place, but until then we’re giving her a place to stay.”
“She seems…” Reagan trailed off.
“Once you get to know her, you’ll wonder how you ever functioned without her in the first place.”
“Oh, a fresh breath of air is she?”
It was Reagan’s first attempt at humor since we’d arrived at my apartment, and I smiled as we settled on the black leather couch with our legs curled up and we balanced textbooks on our laps.
“Or a fresh breath of burnt garlic,” I replied. “Whatever your tastes.”
Reagan put on her glasses. She fanned the pages until she got to the right one. “Okay, Miss Fame, let’s do this.”
I nodded, ready to battle some words. Professor Hell Hammer wasn’t ever again going to catch me unprepared.
We stayed on the couch studying for another half hour, so engrossed in zones of danger it never crossed my mind why it was taking Lara so long to boil pasta. I was even able to coax Reagan into taking a few sips of wine before I heard telltale familiar footsteps.
It’s funny, really, how immediately recognizable someone’s footsteps are.
Apparently, Reagan didn’t require that knowledge. “Omigod, he’s here.”
I shut my casebook and nudged her arm with it. “Remember, you’re a normal twenty-three-year-old girl. One who snubs all things crazy and only approaches famous people with class and decorum.”
Reagan’s nose crinkled as she stared at me with the most unattractive face she could manage. “That’s how I approached you, isn’t it?”
I laughed. “I ain’t famous.” I moved off the couch, reaching my hands up and arching my back in a satisfying, wonderful stretch. “Let’s go.”
A light tap came at the door as I dropped my hands. I beamed when it opened and Slade’s face appeared. “Hey, my girl.”
“Hey back,” I said as I approached him and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. As tempting as it was to wrap my legs around his waist and ravish him, I was all too aware of Reagan stumbling up behind me. Her book crashed to the floor and I turned in time to see her fussing with her shirt and hair.
I swept my arm toward her as the door opened wider and Slade stepped in. “Meet Reagan, my new friend.”
“You made a friend! So proud of you, honey,” he said before addressing Reagan with a wink.
“Hey, hi. Hello,” she said. “I admire your work. I mean, sport. Talented. That’s what I’m saying.”
I knew exactly how she felt when he focused those sapphire eyes of his on her. Jewels on a face. They had that effect
.
“Don’t be a fan yet,” he said as he shook her hand. “Let’s see how I do.”
I pinched his waist affectionately, and he snapped back from the tickle. “Don’t be modest. You’ll be great.”
Reagan nodded. “If your college track record means anything, you’re going to bring this city to its knees.” Reagan shut her mouth tight, possibly realizing she may have just word-vomited. She let go of his hand, scarlet blooming on her fair cheeks.
“Wow,” Slade said. “Thanks.”
“You know what’s not so great?” I said with the widest fake smile I could muster. “Lara’s cooking dinner for us.”
“Ah, yes,” Slade said, sliding a hand around my waist. “She ordered takeout half an hour ago.”
“Oh thank goodness,” Reagan said so unexpectedly Slade and I laughed.
As we made our way back to the kitchen, Reagan leading this time, Slade whispered in my ear, “She’s sweet.”
“She is,” I said.
“You know who she reminds me of?”
I leaned into him as we walked. “I know.”
She was sweet and naïve with a shy brain but a rapid mouth. It made me go back four years and remember exactly the girl I was before Slade.
“Yay! I’m not alone with food anymore!” Lara, her apron cast aside, clapped as we approached the dining room table. The wonderful smell of Thai food greeted us as soon as we entered.
After we all sat down, the conversation began to flow. Reagan piped up every now and again as she grew more comfortable with Slade, who was a goofball. He flicked grains of rice at both Lara and me with his chopsticks, aiming for our mouths every time we tried to be serious and talk. When he aimed for Reagan, she covered her lips and laughed, her eyes sparkling with both glee and a sort of awed confusion. I felt a kinship with her because it was precisely how I acted with Slade when I was faced with him for the first time in a stranger’s bathroom—with his shirt off.
“Should we watch a movie tonight? Reagan, you want to stay for that?”
Reagan’s fork clattered to her plate at Lara’s invitation, but I relaxed in my chair, satisfied. I knew an olive branch when I saw one.
“Wow, okay. Sure.”
“Great,” Slade said, throwing down his napkin and scraping his chair across the hardwood as he moved to stack the empty plastic containers. “Because it’s Char’s night to choose. And our sweet angel here loves her slasher movies.”
“She’d love a fellow horror lover,” Lara added. “Considering Slade and I crack up and holler as much as we can.”
“I can’t help it,” I said, sneaking one last baby corn from the container before Slade covered it. “It’s this weird addiction I can’t shake. Like coming across a car accident or a public execution, you know? You scream at yourself to look away but it’s just so…”
“Yeah, those courtyard hangings, man. New York really needs to stop with those,” Lara said. In answer I flicked a noodle at her. “And don’t get her started on the Investigation Discovery channel.” Lara gestured at me with her wineglass. “Psycho.”
Reagan’s chin fired up and down as she nodded. “No, I totally get it. But hey, you have another nickname?”
I crunched down on the tip of the corn and threw the remaining half at Lara, who ducked and stuck her tongue out.
“Ladies,” Slade said, his grin belying his warning. “You have a guest. Try not to ping her with misfires.”
“Kind of,” I replied to Reagan. “Slade always calls me Char.”
“So cool,” Reagan said, setting her plate on the pile in Slade’s arms, but she wasn’t talking to me. “I mean, you have a special name for her.”
“I do,” Slade said. If he was weirded out by Reagan’s sudden focus, he didn’t show it as he wandered into the kitchen.
“It’s really cute,” Reagan said to me. “A guy thinking up something special to call you that no one else does. Especially someone like him.”
Lara frowned at her. “Uh, yeah. Char is super original. So anyway, scary movies. What’s your poison?”
“Poison?” Reagan asked, slowly breaking her contemplation of Slade and concentrating on Lara.
An instinctive tingle danced across the back of my neck, and I rubbed it away, annoyed at such a reaction. Reagan was sweet and curious. So what if she was interested in Slade and me? Wouldn’t anyone be in this situation? We weren’t a common couple that many people met.
“You know,” Lara said, resting an arm on the table. “Types of horror movies you prefer. Paranormal? Serial killer? Women of questionable intellect asking, ‘Who’s there?’ instead of running like fuck for the door?”
“Oh,” Reagan said. “I guess paranormal.”
“Supernatural it is,” Slade said, standing behind me to rub my shoulders. “But I can’t stay up too late. Early morning meetings.”
“You’re leaving again? So early?” I tried to hide my disappointment. I never wanted to be that girl, but still, I hadn’t woken up with him beside me in weeks.
“I have to. I’m meeting with the coach. I have to memorize some more plays.”
Lara leaned back in her chair and sucked on a chopstick, staring at Slade.
“You didn’t mention it,” she said.
“I know. It just sort of happened.” He saw the look on my face, sat down on the empty seat beside me, grabbed my hands, and pressed them against his stomach, right in that sweet spot between his ribs. “Sweetheart…”
“I know.” I said, trying to reassure him. “We knew this was how it was going to be. I get it.” I said it with as much conviction as I could.
“Okay,” he said, letting go of one of my hands to touch my cheek. “Let me take care of the dishes, and we can start.”
“I’ll help,” I said, standing up with him. “You guys enjoy dessert. We’ll be right back.”
Reagan nodded, unable to speak because her mouth was full of mango sticky rice. Lara waved her chopsticks at us. “I’m not going to argue. More deliciousness for me.”
As we were walking into the kitchen, I heard Reagan say to Lara, “Wow, he’s really in love with her.”
I turned around in time to see Lara dig her chopsticks into the rice. She made eye contact with no one when she said, “Uh-huh.”