Page 4 of Flaunt
I put my phone in my pocket and ignore the series of vibrations afterward.
“What are you making for dinner?” I ask, peering over her shoulder.
“I’m roasting a chicken with some root veggies.”
I step back, giving her room to work. “Oh.”
“Do you want to come for dinner?”
“I mean, yeah.”
She tries not to smile.
“I aired your tire up this morning,” I say, sitting at the bar. “It was low. Tell your husband to start checking that for you.”
Ashley sets the veggies down and turns around, leaning against the counter. “That was very nice of you.”
“Because I’m a nice guy. And I like when you’re nice to me back. And when you invite me over for dinner. And when you tell me I can stay and watch a movie with you guys.”
She laughs, grabbing a towel and drying her hands. Her phone begins to ring. “Hang on.” She lifts her device. “Hello?”
I take my phone out and surf the interwebs. What did people do in situations like this before there were cell phones with the internet? Did they just sit and stare at the person on the phone? Did they carry books around with them as a diversion? How could you pretend not to listen to the conversation happening in front of you, because obviously, you are, if you have nowhere else to direct your attention?
I’ll ask someone old.I’ll ask Foxx.
My fingers fly across the screen.
Me: Hey, what did you old people do before you had phones with internet and were in social situations where the other person was talking and you had to pretend not to listen?
Foxx has silenced notifications.
“No, Maddox can’t,” Ashley says. “He has a showing right now. Can it wait like two hours?” Her brows pinch together. “Oh. Crap.”
Sounds like someone is having a bad day.
I click on my Social app and scroll through.
“Is Jess home yet?” Ashley asks.
“Nope. He and Dad are at an auction. They’ll be gone until late,” I say.
“He’s not home,” she tells whomever she’s talking to. “Moss and Brooke are both still at work and we’ll pretend Foxx doesn’t exist.”
Smart girl.
A 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO? Nice. I click the post and check out the pictures.
“But Banks is here,” Ashley says carefully.
It’s the way she says it that stands the hair on the back of my neck on end. I don’t have to look up to know she’s looking at me.
The energy in the room shifts, and I know the change well enough to know she’s going to ask me to do something I don’t want to do.
I slip off the stool and start toward the door.
“Maybe,” she says, her voice rising. “It won’t bethatbad.” She pauses. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
I try to get out of the door before she says another word. My pace quickens—but not enough.
