Page 46 of Sexy Bad Escort

“Ready?” shesays, reaching for my hand.

No. But I twinemy fingers with hers anyway, let her lead me up the path ofmeandering slate pavers that take us to the front door. It’s thrownopen before I can push the bell, and my brother is there, taking upevery inch of space in the doorway, holding a beer and grinning,his gaze on Ronnie.

I watchas he deliberately scans her from the top of her dark locks,overthose blue eyesthat are practically a Frost family trademark, and full,red-painted lips, to the slightest hint of cleavage tucked behindconservative lace and a thin cardigan, down her long, lean legs tothe flat sandals on her feet. I wonder if she dressedconservatively because this is apparently the kind of woman mybrother likes.

And theyhave become awfully close over the course of the lastweek.

I shiftthe bag to my left handand wrap my right arm around Ronnie’s shoulders, pulling hertightly against my side. The not-so-subtle act of possessiondoesn’t go unnoticed by her or my brother. She arches her browswhile he snickers and then takes a swig from his beer.

“Youlook nervous,” Joe says, and Iwant to punch him for being so observant. If he can see it,so will my dad. And I don’t want that man to know he still affectsme. I want him to believe my life is perfect, despite it beingnothing like what he hoped for me.

Dad’svoice booms out, slapping at us like the air on a muggy day.“Sitdown, Irene.He’ll be in here in a minute. For Christ’s sake, do you want to endup back in that damn hospital?”

Ronnie’seyes widen whileJoeshakes his head. “He’s been like that since she got discharged. Itold him he’s the one who’s going to put her back in the hospital,and I thought he was going to take a swing at me.”

Great.This is promising already. I straighten my spine and step over thethreshold. “Well, let’s get it over with.”

Joegrabs the bag from my arm and the casserole dish from Ronnie, andshe tries to follow him to the kitchen, but I grab her armand pull her back to me.She’s my rock. I can’t face them without her.

Shescowls at me. “Really, Danny, was thatnecessary? Do you honestly think your brother andI are going to get it on in the kitchen?”

Nope.But I do think my dad will keep his hatred of me to a dull roar so long as she’s inthe vicinity. “Come on,” I say without acknowledging her snarkyquestion, and this time I take the lead and guide her into theliving room.

It’sstraight ahead, through an arched doorway. There’s a brickfireplace built into onewall. Perpendicular to that is a television that’s basically amovie screen. The better to watch sports on, I’m sure. I imaginethey have a state-of-the-art surround sound system, too. If Dadcan’t be in the arena, I bet this living room sounds like oneduring football season.

Twoleather reclinersfacethe television. My mother is sitting in one of them, a blanketdraped across her lap, even though it’s a pleasant 75 degrees inthe house at the moment. She looks a million times better than shedid in that hospital bed, that’s for damn sure. She has on makeup,her hair is curled, and she’s wearing lounge pants and a T-shirtthat says “Skaters Do It Better.”

Jesus, Ihopeshe didn’t unwrapthat on Christmas morning.

“Hithere,” Ronnie says, smiling and giving her a small wave. My fatherstands next to my mom’s chair, like a soldier, prepared to protecther from…what? Her ownson? I shake my head and refuse to look him in the eye.

“I likethat shirt,” Ronnie says.

Mom grins andpats her chest. “I bought it the last time we went out toCalifornia to visit Joe.”

Ronniesnickers.

“Youboughtthat?” I ask.

“Who do you thinkbought it?” Dad asks.

“Joe,” Ireply.

He rolls hiseyes. “Your brother wouldn’t buy her something off-color likethat.”

“Nope. Ihave to do it myself.” Mom laughs and Ronnie joins her.This is a side of my mother I’mnot familiar with. Is this an aspect of her personality that’sblooming as a result of the stroke, or has she always been likethis and I was too busy fighting with Dad to notice?

“I madelasagna,” Ronnie says. “And breadsticks. And, of course, a salad to balance itall.”

“Thatsounds wonderful,” Momsays. “Did you bring wine too?”

“Of course,”Ronnie replies, grinning.

Dad’sscowl deepens.

“Thedoctor said a little red wine is actually good for theheart,” Mom chastiseshim.

“Alittle isn’t the whole damn bottle,” Dad says in away that makes me wonder ifthis is an old argument.

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