Page 7 of Going Deep
Ginger wrinkled her nose. “Pass. I’ve got leftover Chinese at home. And,” she indicated the papers in her lap, “I have homework to do. But call me the next time Simon wins the pizza war.”
“He may be eating anchovies, but believe me, he still won.”
Ginger stood up. “And that’s why I’m leaving before he gets home.”
Lola rose to follow her to the door. “Call me if you have questions about the list.”
“I will, believe me.” Ginger paused at the door to give her friend a hug. “Thanks, Lo.”
“You’re welcome,” Lola said and opened the door. “Hey, Ginger?”
Halfway across the hall to her own door, Ginger turned. “What?”
Lola winked. “Welcome to the dark side.”
Ginger burst out laughing. “Thanks. I think.”
She waved goodbye and let herself into her apartment, immediately going to the refrigerator, and the bottle of white wine she had chilling.
Her evening was definitely going to require alcohol.
“Are you sure this is going to be okay with Lola?” Michael asked, following Simon out of the elevator.
“It’s fine,” Simon said, juggling the pizza boxes with one hand while he dug his keys out with the other. “She was going to tag you anyway, with the proposal for her needle demo. This way you can talk it out in person.”
“Give me those,” Michael said, reaching for the pizza boxes. “You’re going to dump them on the floor.”
“Just the one with anchovies.” Unencumbered, Simon fit his key smoothly into the lock and swung the door open. “Honey, I’m home!”
“Thank God, I’m starving,” came the fervent reply. “Where’s the pizza?”
Michael stepped into the apartment behind Simon. “Right here, beautiful.”
“Hi, Michael,” she said, a smile curving her lush mouth. She was curled on the sofa in leggings and what looked like one of Simon’s t-shirts, her face bare of makeup and her hair pulled back. She looked like a million bucks. “You pick up a side hustle?”
Appreciating her, Michael smiled. “The hours are lousy, but the tips make up for it.”
“Stop flirting with my woman,” Simon ordered and crossed the room to kiss the woman in question. “Hi.”
“Hi. Did you get a second pizza without anchovies?”
“Yes.”
“That’s cheating,” she accused.
“That’s strategy,” he corrected smugly. “And being a good host. I couldn’t make our guest eat smelly fish.”
Michael set the pizza down on the kitchen counter. “Don’t drag me into this.”
“Go with me here,” Simon hissed, then grunted when Lola poked him in the belly.
“When exactly did you invite Michael for dinner?” she asked. “Before or after you ordered the second pie?”
“After,” Simon admitted, laughing when she poked him again. “But the reasoning stands.”
She poked him a third time, then grabbed his tie and yanked him down for another kiss. “Cheat.”
“Smelly fish eater.”
