Page 200 of Branded
She gave another one of those nonplussed shrugs. “She’d be there for me.”
Good friend.
Good woman.
“Yeah, she would,” I agreed.
Laughter rang down the stairs—masculine and feminine and youthful—and Beth’s face softened. “That’s a good sound,” she whispered.
It was.
From what Marcel had told me and the guys, Mila hadn’t had much to laugh about.
Pru would light the way, Marcel would provide soft and gentle guidance, and both would give loyalty and love until their last breaths.
She hitched up her purse, shifted slightly from side to side.
“We should go,” I offered.
Her eyes hit mine again. “You don’t want?—”
“I’ll catch up with them later.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Got it in you to give an annoying hockey player a ride home?”
Another blink. “What?” she asked again.
“Smitty gave me a ride over”—I slanted a glance at her car, parked at the curb—“think I can hitch a ride home?”
“Smitty?”
Right.
Too many details.
I shuffled her forward, out onto the porch, and reached for the door, closing it, and hitting the button on the bottom of the electronic keypad that would engage the dead bolt.
Then I shuffled her forward, down the steps, and to her car.
Her purse off her arm.
Keys out and locks bleeped.
“Get in, sugarpie.”
The next blink had her face clearing. “Let me guess,” she muttered. “You’re driving me home?”
“Us home.”
She gave me some tart. Just a dash of it, and I liked it. “I don’t remember inviting you back to my place.”
I grinned. “I invited myself.”
“You were serious when you said annoying hockey player.” A grumble that had amusement coiling through me.
I let it out, chuckling as I opened the passenger’s side door. “I’m honest to a fault.”
