Page 22 of Savage Suit
Eight light brown cabinets separated the stove and the refrigerator. There were four cabinets on the wall, four base cabinets, two sets on each side of the sink with a cream-colored Formica counter, mostly taken up by my microwave, and white floor tiles. I dressed up the area with a hot pink kitchen mat, kitchen towels featuring pink hearts, and a small, low-maintenance plant since I had no window.
“If you lost that key, I’ll punch you in your nose.”
“So violent,” Quinn chided, leaning against the breakfast counter that allowed me to see my living room. “Do you have any g and g stuff? It was so good.”
“Grits and Grillades?”
She nodded with vigor. “That’s it! Can you say what it is called again? Grits and gree-ahds?”
“So disrespectful of Mama’s heritage,” I sniffed, inordinately proud of it, and chose French as my foreign language throughout my high school career. Since her death, I’d signed up with genealogy sites, taken DNA tests to find long-lost relatives, and visited my mother’s hometown three times. Out of my siblings, I was the only one who habitually prepared New Orleans cuisine.
“I’m not disrespectful, Ry. Nothing is pronounced as it’s spelled there. I can remember grits easily enough, but the other part? Nope. It’s just beef and gravy over the grits. So why not grits and gravy? Why so fancy?”
Hands on hips, I turned and scowled at her, then gave her an under-eyed look. She was stalling, and we both knew it.
“Oh, fuck! Fine. I don’t know where I put your stupid key. I may have accidentally thrown it out. Or it could be in one of my purses. I just can’t remember which one.”
Instead of chastising her like I typically would, I clamped my jaw shut. When our parents were killed, I’d been sixteen, Armani had been twenty-six and married with her first child, and Quinn had been thirteen. Dakota and Logan, our brothers, had been twenty and eleven, respectively.
Though we were close in age, I’d had to take up a parental role with my younger siblings after our mother’s death. A dividing line had existed between me, Quinn, and Logan for a long time. I took over where Mama left off. For a time, my grades and dreams faltered under the strain. I’d almost dropped out of high school and abandoned my goal of attending NYU. Somehow, I’d rescued myself and still cared for Quinn and Logan.
When that asshole of all assholes sneered I was in the wrong profession, I’d almost lost my fucking mind. He didn’t know what I’d gone through to get my degree for him to dismiss it so cavalierly.
“I don’t have any grits and Grillades, Quinn,” I said with a sigh, leaning against the kitchen wall. Hell, I barely had food. “As for that key, find it. I’m not supposed to make a fucking copy, and this is the second one you’ve lost.”
Okay, so I didn’t sound authoritarian.
“Come off it,” she snapped. “You’re within your legal right to have a spare, so bite me.”
“My lease states no copies. I’ve made two for you. Why? Because you and Logan don’t get along, and you crash on my sofa. Armani threw you the fuck out. Then Dakota had enough of your antics. You’re still at Logan’s because he can’t afford to show you the door. I can’t afford to move, Quinn, and I’m afraid I’ll be kicked out if it’s discovered I had door keys made for you.”
Her hazel eyes flashed. “They act like my pussy is community property, andtheyget a say in where I throw it.”
I wasn’t about to have that conversation with her. It didn’t matter if she added a hundred lovers to her repertoire. I loved her. Men slung dick to Earth's four corners, and all they received was a wink and a nod. Now and then, there was a backlash, but mostly, it was awe and respect at their body count.
Myissue was wondering what Mama would think of both Quinn and me. Wouldshethink less of us? Me for not reining my little sister in, instead of assuring her birth control stayed up-to-date and keeping her with a vast supply of condoms, and Quinn for going from guy to guy?
Other issues with Quinn had nothing to do with her coochie pitching. “You need to be more responsible and have more regard for me,” I snapped. “I don’t give a damn if you live footloose and fancy-free. Show some consideration when I put my fucking neck on the line for you.”
“I’m sorry I lost the fucking key,” she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “It might not be lost, so take a chill pill and panic when you have a reason.”
My meaning escaped her, so I let the conversation go. Talking to her was like facing one of the brick walls in my apartment and discussing my day. “Why are you here?”
Smirking because I dropped the subject, she smiled. “I’m getting to that.”
Oh, hell no. “I will kick you out if you don’t tell menow,” I warned, my glare intensifying.
Sleep was one of my favorite activities, and I didn’t appreciate Quinn interrupting my precious beauty rest for bullshit.
“Calm down,” she said, turning on her heel and heading to the couch, where she plopped down.
Folding my arms, I leaned against the door frame.
“Paul is that businessman I’ve been messing with, and we’re both huge fans of MMA.”
Right. She’d come because of the Paul guy. “That’s great, but why do I need to know this?”
“Because an underground fight in Westbury is happening tonight, and he bought an extra ticket for you. At my pleading, of course.” She batted her fake eyelashes. “And a good session of sixty-nining.”
