Page 53 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“That is currently parked in the garage at Neptune.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to show up covered in plaster dust, okay?” His ears are going red. That’s more than embarrassment. That’s shame.
“Yeah. Sure.”
We walk in thick silence to my Porsche.
Mike groans when he sees the car. “Never mind. I’ll walk home.”
“Would you get in the car?”
“I’m going to sneeze and ruin it, and you’re going to sue me.”
“Mike,” I snap with the same tone I use on the puppies who start chewing on my sneaker.
He sulks into the passenger seat. “Has to be a 1977.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I toss the stack of DVDs onto the back seat.
Mike slams the passenger door. “Because it is.”
Chapter 18
“So what’s the deal with your house?” I ask as my Porsche growls onto the I-5.
Mike fiddles with the radio. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll rephrase my question.” I turn off the radio. “Tell me why your grandmother leftyousuch a stunning yet derelict beachfront property.”
He groans.
“And I’m telling you now, no, I will not buy you a drink first. I’m giving you a ride home. You owe me an answer.”
“That’s one of the problems with lawyers—one of the many problems with lawyers. Everything is so transactional.”
“Do you want to get home? I could stay on this freeway all night.”
“Are you threatening to kidnap me, Bea?”
Gosh, the man looks gorgeous and completely at home in my passenger seat.
“Was it really your grandmother’s house? Not an ex-wife’s? Or some sweet senior citizen from the library. She took a bad fall, you stole her keys while you waited for the paramedics to arrive, and out of tremendous guilt, you’ve decided to fix the place up while she convalesces?”
Mike chuckles. “It really was my grandma’s house. But we can pretend she won it in a poker game, if it makes you feel better.”
“Paternal or maternal grandmother?” I demand.
Mike glares at me. “My only. My dad’s parents passed away before I was born. Grandma Evie was the only grandparent I’ve ever known.”
“So you inherited the property? Why? Generations usually aren’t skipped unless…” Oh dear. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know anything about it. Not until my mom passed away. I grew up here, but then it all fell apart when my folks moved to Texas for my mom’s treatments. I thought I’d always have afternoons with my grandma and summers in the water. I was going to be a lifeguard or teach surf lessons. Be one of those high school kids who paddle the tourists out to Goldfish Point into the sea caves. But that disappeared in the move. The plan was to come out to visit during the summer. We did twice. I was supposed to write letters. I called not even a handful of times.” Mike’s brooding. “If I could do it over, I wouldn’t have gone. I didn’t belong in Texas. But then, I didn’t belong here after we left.”
He shifts, and the leather upholstery squeaks and groans.
I feel like a fool for turning off the radio earlier. Silence isn’t anything I enjoy, even at the best of times, but now… This isthe type of awkward that breeds more awkward. I’m lucky I’m driving—I have a job to focus on. I swear, if my hands were not at ten and two on the wheel, I’d reach for him. “So you were close? You and your grandmother?”
