Page 61 of Plum

“Yup. He eats like he got a hollow leg. You back with Forty?” If she’s not, I’m probably supposed to be freezing her out like everyone else.

“Shit, girl. I’m hardly back in town.”

“Why’d you come back?” I turn my cart so we’re heading in the same direction, and we roll off, side by side.

“Got tired of everyone lovin’ me. Wanted to get the scarlet letter treatment, you know?”

“I probably ain’t supposed to be talking to you.”

“Probably not.”

“Want to go for a beer?” I been really bored, not working and stuck at home.

“Fuck yeah, Jo-Beth-Beth Connolly.” We grin at each other and head for the check out.

“Nice boot,” she says while she throws things on the belt, no rhyme or reason.

“Fashionable, right?” I pull out my canned goods and stack them neat, bar code accessible.

“Broken?”

“Only a bad sprain.”

I got cleared by Adam’s fancy, home-visiting doctor to walk on it awhile back, but I’m still in the boot. Dr. Das comes and does PT with me three days a week, which is weird as fuck. He don’t even wear doctor clothes. He comes in khakis and a button down. He’s also young and hot and Adam fuckinghateshim.

Adam’ll drive all the way from Pyle to be there for the session, and then he’ll drive all the way back. He’s putting crazy miles on his vehicles. These past two months, I’ve learned that in addition to the Maserati, he’s got a Range Rover, a Mercedes G class, and a vintage Black Shadow, which ain’t a Harley but is still sweet as hell.

I’m fucking a very rich man. Ain’t gonna lie. It’s hard to wrap my brain around.

“So where to? Want to go to some chain restaurant so no one will see you with me?”

We’ve checked out, Nevaeh’s loaded up her car, and now she’s helping me with my bags. It’s cold enough out that the milk will keep for an hour or two.

“Girl, you know Grinder and Boots live at the Chili’s.”

Nevaeh laughs, and I can’t help but smile. She’s got the biggest laugh. It’s out of control.

“You know, I got a better idea. Let’s go to Finnegan’s.” We used to beg the brothers to ride us into town—Nevaeh, Annie Holt, and I—so we could make ourselves sick on sundaes.

“Ice cream!” Nevaeh squeals, then she seems to think about it. “It’s too cold for ice cream.”

“So there’ll be no one there to start shit. And I can get a malted. Perfect.”

“Perfect,” she concedes. “Can you drive in that boot?”

“I got here, didn’t I?”

“True.” She hops in my passenger seat, brown curls bouncing, more energy than anyone has a right to. Yeah, I like her. Always have.

There’s not a soul at Finnegan’s Ice Cream Parlor when we get there. I get a vanilla malted, and she gets a banana split, shoves half down her face, and then collapses in the booth, groaning.

“Why’d you let me do that?”

“There’s not a soul on earth who can tell you what to do, Nevaeh Ellis. And you fucking know it.”

“I do, I do.” She pops open the button on her jeans. “So, you gonna tell me all about how you’re banging AdamfuckingWade? Damn girl. If I’d have known you had that level game, I would’ve taken you with me when I blew this pop stand.”

“I do not have big city titties. You know that. I’d have been broke and back here in no time.”

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