Page 25 of Smith

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re gonna feed me before you fuck me.”

The corner of Smith’s lips tilted up and I had his playful, teasing side back.

“Yeah, Aria, I’m gonna make sure you got enough energy to keep up with me.”

Whatever.

He could call himself an asshole all he wanted. But again a true asshole didn’t make their fuck-buddy chicken piccata. Atmost they grilled burgers or threw something frozen in the oven, more than likely they just called in a takeout order.

“Just so you know, I’m judgy and I’ll be grading your efforts.”

“The chicken or the fucking?”

“Both.”

“One will be passable, the other will leave you unable to walk tomorrow.”

I barely refrained from doing a victory dance in the living room of my flip.

“You sure do talk a big game,” I noted.

Smith looked at his phone and smiled.

“Get to work, Aria.”

This time when he issued his demand I walked to the front door with a pep in my step.

Ten minutes later I had the new flood light out of the box and was setting up the ladder when Smith came out the front door with a frown.

What now?

“Change of plans,” he announced and did it in a way that made my heart sink. “Kira called. Whoever was driving the Tesla had a privacy cover over their tag.”

“One of those plastic things that block the toll cameras?” I asked.

“Yeah. She doesn’t have a tag number but she verified it was the same Tesla outside the hotel, the gas station, and the mall.”

I didn’t like that I was right but I already knew I was.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we got jack on the Tesla. Cooper is going over the comments on your channel, flagging anything he feels is off. Since Kira didn’t get a hit on the Tesla she’s looking into George Calvin and Brittney Peterson. So far she hasn’t found anything on either of them.”

That sounded good so I didn’t understand what plans we were changing and why.

“That’s good, right?”

“People who do fucked-up shit tend to bury the fucked-up shit they do. On the surface Brittney looks like your typical stay-at-home mom who spends way too much money on Amazon buying face lotions as potions.”

“Are you really dissing a woman’s commitment to taking care of her appearance?”

His smirk was infuriating, made more so by his accompanying comment. “Aria, baby, if that shit worked there’d be no need for plastic surgeons. Cosmetic companies perpetuate insecurity. One day women all around the world will wake up and realize their beauty doesn’t come from a bottle or a lotion. Natural is way more attractive.”

It was hard to stay irritated when I liked his way of thinking. I was also happy to hear him say that because I wasn’t a make-up wearer. Not normally, anyway. I liked to trick myself out on special occasions but I was more of an Ivory-soap-to-wash-my-face-in-the-shower girl, and moisturized when I remembered or wasn’t in a rush to get out the door to start my day.

“And George? What does he spend his money on?” I asked.

“Toys.”

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