Page 22 of Forbidden Puck
“A specificwhatnow?”
“A specific look, or style or theme—” I cut myself off. Lance's face showed only confusion and we weren't getting anywhere like this. “I'll just take that as a no.”
“Well, thereisone thing I know I want.”
“Which is?”
“A big leather couch. Like,big,so I can comfortably sleep on it. Oh, and I want it to be red, too.”
“Easy enough. Anything else?”
“Nope. Other than that, it's all up to you. You knowwaymore about this stuff than I do, Ella. I trust your judgment. The only thing is, someday, we want to have the team over for a party. And the boys will bring their wives and girlfriends and stuff. So I'd prefer that our place looks like—er, I dunno …”
“Like two classy professionals live here, and not two degenerate 20-something bachelors that sit around in lawn chairs staring at a TV on the floor?”
Lance's face lit up. “Yes!Exactly. So yeah. You're the expert. Whatever you wanna do, it's your vision.”
I pinched his cheek. “Aaaaw, Lance! You finally trust me?”
He batted my hand away. “Well, I noticed you haven't cashed any of the checks I've sent you. So I guess you reallyaresupporting yourself with your job out in New York.”
“Does that fact just eat you up inside?” I asked him with a grin.
“My accountant sure hates it. He's always griping about how my ledger's out of whack thanks to those checks.” He shook his head. “But no. It doesn't bother me at all. I'm proud of you, sis. Haven't I told you that?”
“No. You haven't.”
“Well … it's true.”
“Thanks, Lance.”
With that, we hugged, and chowed down on our pre-shopping-spree breakfast.
***
After seven and a half hours of shopping all over Boston, and several thousands of dollars rung up on Lance's credit card, my brother was slowing down. We'd found almost everythingbutthe perfect giant leather couch.
“How do youdothis for a living?” Lance griped as he parked his Lamborghini outside the tenth stop of the day. His bright-red Lambo wasn't the most practical car for our mission—and we'd stuffed it to the gills with any of our purchases that would fit. The other assorted large things were slated to be delivered later tomorrow.
Lance rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “We've been to like, eighty different stores and antique shops. This is worse than a bag-skate. Yet you'restillgoing strong.”
“It energizes me, really.” I shrugged. For me, the quest of searching for that perfect rug or tile or fabric or piece of furniture was a stronger boost than any cup of coffee I'd ever drank. “But if you're exhausted, this can be our last stop of the day.”
He let out a whimper of relief. “Really? Last one, you swear?”
“Yup.” Reaching over the pile of shopping bags and fabrics and table lamps and other random things stuffed between us, I patted his shoulder. “Anyway, we're going to find your giant leather couch in this store.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“Intuition, of course! You learn a few things on the job.”
I opened the door of his exotic sports car—it was the kind of door that opened upwards—and hopped out. Lance climbed out after me, slowly, like a stiff old man, and shuffled his feet to catch up with me. The door-bells of the furniture shop jangled we entered. I let out a breath of awe—this place washuge.
Lance groaned. “This is going to take forever …”
“Shh. We'll go fast. Come.” I grabbed him by the arm and we began weaving our way down the crowded aisles. “So what do you want to do tonight, brother?”
“Why don't I take you out to Boston's most hoppin' clubs?”
