Page 44 of Stay Toxic

Since I had a feeling Shasha wouldn’t have one word to say to her, I was the one to answer.

“Yes, it’s great.” I smiled.

She’d put us in a very secluded part of the restaurant, near the back corner, farthest away from both the kitchen and the entry.

Shasha moved around me and took the seat with his back to the wall.

I sat down in the opposite seat and waited for the hostess to leave before saying, “There’s a trend going around on social media right now that my students just shared with me. They told me that a man isn’t a man at all if he gives the woman the chair and not the booth.”

His eyes studied me for a long second before he said, “If I have to shoot a man in the face, I can’t very well do that with my back to the door.”

I blinked.

Lord, I’m not asking you for my soul mate, I’m just asking you for the tracking number.

—Coffee cup

SHASHA

She blinked so cutely.

“I’m sorry.” She raised a finger to her ear and rubbed it. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“You heard me just fine,” I pointed out. “You’re just hoping for a different answer that I won’t be giving.”

She shook her head, her beautiful green eyes shining in surprise, and said, “I guess you’re right.”

“How do you know the woman that was killed at the mouth of my road?” I asked.

I saw her shoulders deflate.

“She used to be the school’s librarian,” she answered. “Her husband is a criminal defense lawyer.”

This I knew.

“Yes,” I said. “So I’ve heard.”

She didn’t have to know that I’d heard about the librarian’s husband via illegal means rather than hearing about it on the news like everyone else had.

“She’d told me in passing that her husband was harsh. She didn’t out and out say that he was abusing her or anything, but I could infer. There were bruises. One time he came in to pick up her car because his wouldn’t start, and he’d berated her for a solid ten minutes in front of the snack machine because she hadn’t answered her phone quickly enough. Which, might I add, she was in the middle of her school day.” I sighed.

Before I could finish, a young waitress arrived with a bored smile on her face and inquired, “What can I get you two to drink?”

“I’ll have a water,” I ordered.

The young girl looked to Brecken next. “And you, ma’am?”

She quickly scanned the menu and said, “Chocolate milk.”

I wondered if she was going to pay for that later.

I knew that she was lactose intolerant. Though, I also knew that there were multiple levels of it. Some just got stomach upsets, while others had much more intense and swift issues.

I imagined that if her intolerance was that bad, she wouldn’t be having chocolate milk.

“Wait,” she said when the waitress started to leave. “Actually, can you make that a lemonade?”

“Sure,” she said. “Our special is on the wall there.”

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