Page 115 of When Stars Collide
Which meant he wasn’t. A relief. “I need to talk to him.”
Clint yawned and stretched, revealing one hairy armpit through the sleeve of his baggy white T-shirt. “Not my problem.”
“Don’t you dare cop an attitude with me, young man!”
That cracked him up. “Come on. I need coffee.”
“And an STD test,” she muttered.
“I heard that. Things aren’t always like they seem.”
She favored him with the disapproving humph of a septuagenarian dowager.
His kitchen was as over-the-top as the rest of house. White marble, white tile, and not one but two crystal chandeliers. “Just out of curiosity. How much did this place cost you?”
“You’d have to ask T-Bo.”
“I would if I could get hold of him!” She took in a bevy of cherubs painted on the ceiling. “And why would he know how much your house cost?”
“He’s kind of my financial adviser. He negotiated the deal. He keeps tabs on some of us younger guys to make sure we don’t blow all our money.”
She studied the chandeliers, gazed more closely at the frolicking cherubs. “He failed you.”
“Not really.” He grinned. “You have no idea how big my contract is.”
“Big enough to give raises to a lot of schoolteachers, I’m sure.”
“Now you’re playing dirty.” He pulled out one of the counter stools.
“I’ll play dirtier if you don’t tell me where Thad is.”
“You think it’s my job to keep tabs on him?”
“You’ve been doing a good job of it so far, so yes, I do.”
He leaned back on the stool. “Let’s put it this way. If he wanted you to know where he was, he’d tell you.”
“You seriously intend to withhold this information from me?”
“Yeah. ’Fraid I do.”
“Fine. Then call him for me.”
“Sure. Give me your phone.”
Damn it. He was so much smarter than he looked. “Call him from your phone.”
“That’s a definite no.”
She stated the obvious. “Because he’ll pick up for you but he won’t pick up for me.”
“You want to make me some pancakes?”
“I do not.”
“Want to go out for pancakes?”
“What I want is to talk to him.” She sounded whiny and pitiful, exactly the way she felt.
