Page 101 of The Love Destroyers

But I don’t like thinking about you being around that man either.

A smile tips across my face for half a second, then dies an ugly death. Neither of us asked for this, neither of us know what to do with it, but she feels it too. She feels something, at least.

It doesn’t resolve our problems, though.

I can handle myself, as you know. ;-)

A double honk captures my attention, and I glance up to see Nicole is parked at the curb. She’s wearing a teal dress with shoulder pads and that teased orange “Nicky” wig.

I get into the passenger side and she speeds off, nearly taking down somebody’sOur house is a homemailbox, shaped like a cottage.

Noticing my sidelong look, she says, “Oh come on, they’re basically asking for it, and we’d be doing them a favor.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near Chuck’s cross-stitches.”

Grinning, she gives me more of her attention than she should while she’s behind the wheel and says, “Nice T-shirt, buddy. But I’ve always thought that the men who feel the need to advertise are secretly inadequate.”

I shrug, trying not to tip my hand. “A woman bought it for me.”

“Yeah, she did,” she says, laughing, and lifts her hand for a high five. I give it to her, if only because I don’t want to die in a car accident while wearing a shirt that saysI have a dig bick.

It’s a reminder, or meant to be one.

I need to get ahold of myself.

“Did Emma get it for you?” Nicole asks.

“No,” I say in a harsh tone, feeling her name like a stab wound right now.

“She told me to give you a cinnamon roll, by the way, but I ate it on the way here.”

The scent of sweet cinnamon is a tease that further blackens my mood. “Thanks.”

Nicole winks at me and nearly plows into a parking meter. “I’m just messing with you. It’s in the glove box. Eat up, buttercup, because we’ve got quite a morning planned. Get this,Jeffrey’s trying to romance Ellie back, so he agreed to do a couple’s mud massage with her this morning. How great is that? We get to cover these fuckers up with mud, and they’re going tothankus for it. That’ll be followed by a free meditation session. They’re going to lie down on uncomfortable mats and listen to horrible music for an hour and a half while I chant nonsense words at them. It’ll probably break Jeffrey’s spirit, but he’ll go along with it if it gets him back in her good graces, no question. He wants whatever he thinks she has. After that, we’re having lunch, and then they’re going on a tour of the Biltmore with this history PhD who wrote a five-thousand page book on it. He knows a two-hour long story about the doorknob to the library. We can probably peace out for that. My tolerance is only so high. And then—”

“So basically we’re going to keep them busy all day so Emma can have time to look through all the shit on Ellie’s phone.”

She snaps her fingers before reclaiming the wheel at the last possible second. “Bingo. And Damien is going to break into Jerry’s room so he can go through his shit too.”

We both know she means Jeffrey, not that I’m going to call her on it. He deserves to be called the wrong name. I’m thinking of a few choice names we can call him as I retrieve the cinnamon roll from the glovebox. It’s delicious, and I down every last bite.

When Nicole parks in the garage at the gingerbread hotel, she turns to me in her seat to skewer me with a stare. “Don’t hit this guy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re worked up, I can tell. You’re going to want to hit him. His face might as well be a dart board, with his nose as the money shot. But don’t hit him. Yes, he set up your girl like a real stone-cold psychopath. And, sure, she was stuck in a hotel room alone with him last night, and it would have been very bad for her if she’d been found, but she wasn’t.”

“You know, I don’t like violence as a rule, but you’re really selling me on it.”

Her eyes twinkling, she cocks her head and studies me like a woman who thinks she’s won something. It’s a look I get often enough from Emma for me to recognize it. “You didn’t tell me she’s not your girl.”

Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

“Why don’t you want me to hit him?” I ask.

She knocks her knuckles against the dashboard. “You’d have to be a real idiot to punch a lawyer in the face around a woman who has a camera surgically attached to her.”

Fair enough.

---