Page 65 of Love in Mission City
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She tapped her chin. “Would you like me to take a look? I’m good with cantankerous old things that are past their prime.”
I flashed to Orlando’s cum that had likely landed on the machine at some point.
He was quicker to the draw. “I’m good at them as well. He just needs a little TLC. I’ll get him fixed right up.”
Simone arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you will. I knew you were the right man for the job.” She pointed at the samples. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Don’t you have, I don’t know, kids or something?” I scratched my cheek.
She flashed me a shit-eating grin. “I left them with Marvin, and he’s going to cope on his own for the night—so he can see what I have to handle all day while he’s at work.” She yanked out her phone, tapped the screen a couple of times, then held it up.
I took it, squinted, and tried to make out what I was seeing.
“He still not wearing his reading glasses?” Simone’s amusement was clear.
“Nope.” Orlando popped thep. “He thinks they make him look old.” He snickered. “I think they make him look sexy as fuck.”
Simone guffawed.
I made out a live stream of Marvin jostling one baby as another one was lying on its back on the floor and clearly crying. “Isn’t this child abuse?”
She took her phone back. “I’m giving him ten more minutes. He knows he’s being recorded, so I’m not worried about that. He could also call for help, but he’s too proud.”
“Or he knows you need a break.” I couldn’t help but notice the circles under her eyes.
“Paisley’s got colic. But we’re trying some new formula, and we’re hopeful that’ll make her tummy less upset.” She pivoted to Orlando. “Ten minutes. Talk.”
And so they did.
Chapter Eight
Orlando
Simone’s visit on Friday night—Canada Day, no less—gave me the confidence I needed to keep pushing forward. She’d called Marvin to confirm he was surviving.
He had been.
So she stayed for several hours until she said something about boobs, milk, and babies.
Knight and I waved her off as she headed home.
Then we worked until past midnight. Knight was that kind of guy—up sort of late and working well into the night. I was cut from much the same cloth, so we got along just fine. I didn’t even miss the partying downtown I’d planned. Vancouver could wait.
Jacqui Friar could not.
Incongruous name until I realized the last name was by marriage. I’d heard her maiden name once, and it totally made sense. Something like man-eating bloodsucker. Didn’t mean I didn’t have massive respect for her. Building a mini real-estate empire with her husband, and now her children, couldn’t have been easy.
By Sunday night, I was fried. I’d insisted we go home for a few hours’ sleep each night. Which was good because Knight would’ve just slept on his sofa. I suspected a lot of nights had been spent that way. And with a full bathroom, he could’ve been all spiffed up by the time Simone arrived.
Had she ever criticized the lack of proper sleep etiquette?
I wasn’t sure, but I was damn proud I’d found the courage. Then, between the takeout from Fifties, A&W, Wendy’s, Stavros’s, Starbucks, Tim Horton’s, and the new pizza place—yes, wecouldscrounge from every place in town—and good old-fashioned coffee, we actually had something presentable. I’d noted a few fast-food joints we’d missed, so I made a note to catch them the next time. I was a huge Subway fan, after all.
What I couldn’t tolerate—what had me nearly going out of my mind—was the sexual tension. Simone had sensed it. She’d made one more comment about cantankerous old photocopiers needing to lighten up and have fun.
I was pretty sure the comment went right over Knight’s head.
Then she’d left, leaving behind two still-horny men.
