Chapter 9
“Rise and shine, valentine!” my mother blared, shaking my shoulder until I cracked my eyes open.
I’d gotten little sleep last night or the night before when I’d stormed from Slice’s room. Combined with the emotional turmoil of rejection and the physical strain of being put through a mattress night before last and suffering dejection and disappointment at Slice’s no-show last night, I was exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. I’d intended to sleep until the signing started, counting on Slice to help my mother set up. Alas, Mom had different plans, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite her second night of drinks and staying up until the early morning hours. After the dinner ended, I came up to the room. Mom partied.
Hangovers were an affliction my mother had never suffered from, a gift my sister was bestowed with, but one that skipped my brother and me. I suppose we inherited Dad’s genes. He suffered after a night of drinking.
Uncle Mike complained Dad was a teetotaler even on their fishing trips. Dad looked forward to time with his brother. He didn’t need drinking to enjoy himself.
While Mom socialized, I talked to Dad for an hour. Part of that time, he gushed about Mom’s night at Red Rum. More than likely, she’d handed him the same spiel as me. Even if I’d ratted her out, Dad wouldn’t have believed me over her.
Moving on from that sour fact, I pitied Dad’s disappointment at Uncle Mike’s last-minute ditching of the fishing trip. They hadn’t had such a weekend in months because Mom demanded Dad’s time.
“Come on, sweetie. Up, up!” Mom bustled to the window and opened the drapes. “We need to get ready.”
Sunlight hit my face, and I recoiled, shielding my sensitive eyes from the brightness. A glance at the clock revealed it was 6:49 AM, eleven minutes before our agreed-upon wake-up time.
“Can’t I sleep for ten more minutes?” I asked and yawned.
“Nope! We need to shower, dress, eat, set up, and do our stretches. Well, we should do our stretches first, but you get the point.” She breezed to her phone. “We should’ve gotten up nineteen minutes ago, so you slept in.”
“We agreed on 7:00 AM,” I reminded her, though I begrudgingly exited my bed.
“Plans change, so look alive,” she chirped, a Phoenix Rising song blaring from her phone’s speaker. “You know the drill, Effie. Squats, lunges, crunches, planks, and our stretches.”
Wordlessly, I turned to face her. We started with twenty standing hip openers, ten on each side. As I dragged my raised leg from right to left, my head bobbed to the music. Phoenix Rising was one of my favorite bands, and Sloane Mason my ultimate celebrity crush. His alluring voice, combined with his talent on the guitar and his bandmates’ skills, invigorated me. By the time we moved onto arm circles, some of my tiredness was starting to dissipate. Completing those marked the end of our warm-up, and the beginning of the real workout.
We hadn’t packed any of our weights, so we should breeze through.
“Look at you, perking up already,” Mom said as I finished my first squat.
“Yeah,” I responded simply.
Normally, we used this time to chitchat and plan for our day. As overbearing as she could be, I cherished our bond and enjoyed exercising with her. Yet, Slice had me dejected, and the thought of using my brain for a conversation seemed like a Herculean task. How I’d get through the day, I didn’t know. Playing nice with the man who had my heart aching would require academy-award-level acting. All I wanted to do was scream at him for being such a fuckboy and slap myself for my na?veté.
Twenty squats later, we moved onto lunges. One exercise down, too fucking many more to go.
“God, I hate these,” Mom groaned, already shaking after two.
Thirty lunges were our standard, fifteen for each leg. This routine was years old, but she still struggled to stay balanced and maintain proper form.
“Only twenty-eight left,” I teased, grinning at her glare.
“Don’t remind me.”
Stuck faded into Inferno , Phoenix Rising’s most popular song, and a love letter to his controversially young wife. The questionable timeline of their relationship aside, Georgie and Sloane Mason seemed to have a strong bond, and I aspired to have the connection they shared.
How had they done it? How had she known, even under eighteen, that Sloane was the one ? In interviews, she often mentioned love. How much she loved Sloane and how much he loved her. I still maintained respect was more important and impactful because love rarely lasted. But a connection? A bond? Yeah. That lasted.
I mistakenly believed I was bonding with Slice.
I shook my head to rid thoughts of him. It was bad enough I’d cried myself to sleep again last night. I didn’t need to remind myself every five seconds that he didn’t want me.
“Thank God that’s done,” Mom breathed, twisting her body and settling onto the floor.
Huh, I hadn’t even realized we were done. Brooding over a guy had its perks. Thirty lunges breezed by.
We moved onto the crunches. We practiced many alternatives of them, depending on the day. Today, I was feeling punch crunches. At home, I did those with dumbbells. Nonetheless, maybe attacking the air would help me feel less mopey.
I adjusted my legs until they were separated by the ideal width. “Punch crunches okay with you, Mom?”
“Yep,” she answered. “An extra arm workout is always good by me.”
For some reason, Mom hated her arms.
With her confirmation given, we began to move, lifting our upper bodies, holding the crunch, and punching with each fist. Mom’s movements were more controlled, while mine were faster and more aggressive. Each time I punched the air, I imagined Slice’s stupid face. Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but I’d held myself together by a thread for almost two days. I’d rather drop a dumbbell on my foot than talk about my emotions. Imaginary violence it was.
“You all right, sweetie?” Mom asked near the end of our circuit. “You’re going a little hard with those hits.”
Shit.
If she noticed, I really needed to dial it back.
“Just wanna make up for the junk we’ll eat later.” Hopefully, the answer satisfied her. “Plus, I have to burn away all the extra food we’ve eaten on this trip.”
Not much more than usual. Yesterday, I had neither the time nor an appetite for most of the day.
Until dinner last night, Mom finished signing books and swag while I saw to last minute preorders and sorted mugs, T-shirts, posters, and lip balm. I’d packed the rolling carts and set up a livestream for Mom, where she’d blasted Ink and Iron and preened over Slice on her cover and his appearance at the signing.
The word bounty ran through my head— Striker’s words. But I dismissed it. They weren’t concerned so why should I be? I proceeded to post the address of the signing. Sapphire Knight, the event organizer, talented author, and all-around lovely woman, allowed the attending authors to raffle two tickets to readers. Mom told me to include the address in my posts, so I did. I was fairly certain the VIP tickets were sold out. Not many tickets would be available at the door.
Mom grabbed my fists, mid-punch. “Effie, love, I think the fast food is worked off,” she said, giggling.
“Right,” I panted. I’d exerted a lot of energy into the exercise.
Luckily, Mom believed my explanation with no further questions. She hovered at the wrong times.
I started the punch crunches again.
“Stop, Effie!”
“We eat healthy at home, Mom, but when we travel, it’s a different story. I’m trying to burn extra calories.”
“I understand,” she said, fanning herself. “I’m going straight to my treadmill when we get home.”
Halting my fists, I nodded. I missed our at-home gym. Heath had been the one to suggest having the garage double as an exercise room. Once he moved away, we commandeered his equipment, including the giant exercise mat preferable to the hotel floor.
A few seconds of rest, and we moved on to our last exercise and the most grueling of the bunch, a one-minute plank. While lunges were Mom’s worst enemy, planks were mine. That sentiment was doubly true today when my body begged for more sleep after two restless nights. Often, I treated this routine as a warm-up and went for a thirty-minute jog once we finished, with extra stretches when I got back. Today, that wouldn’t be possible. Even if I had the time, I simply didn’t have the energy.
“And done.” Mom’s announcement always came with flair. She settled onto all fours while I collapsed into a heap. “Cobra now, sweetie.”
I grunted, still lying on the carpeted floor.
“Effie, darling, we just have three things left. Cobra, child’s pose, and standing wide-legged forward bend. You can be lazy in the shower.”
Sighing, I pulled myself into position. I didn’t want her to get suspicious, nor did I want to throw off her groove because I went and developed a crush on a playboy biker. Besides, neglecting my body for him was doing me a disservice. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his rejection hurt. I could be depressed when I got home, but today, I’d pretend all was well.
I arrived at the convention center without a hitch. Dad hit the road last night. Riker was allowing Drifter to turn around and head to Austin as well. It was some serious shit if I needed a fucking escort.
When I walked into the ballroom where the signing was being held, I spotted Effie before she saw me. She was stacking books in the middle of her mother’s table between a basket wrapped in cellophane and tied with a gold bow and rows of swag bags. On the side of the table, a retractable banner stood with a gigantic photo of Daria superimposed in front of me.
I snorted. I couldn’t wait until the event was over. Sometime, in the early morning hours, I decided I probably wouldn’t work for Daria again. Hell, today probably marked the end of my modeling career. The sooner I got my ass over there and Effie turned her devastated gaze to me, the sooner I could look toward the end of the day.
Except…
Her gaze wasn’t devastated. It was fucking frozen. She looked at me as if she hadn’t fallen apart in my arms. Her cold greeting felt as if she cut me with a shard of ice.
“Effie—”
“Mom wants to know if you’re willing to sign books if the readers ask.”
“Don’t I always?”
Effie shrugged. “I’m just relaying the message, Slice,” she said briskly.
I stepped closer to her. “We need to talk.”
She drew herself up. “I can’t imagine what you want to discuss with me.”
“Effie—”
“Stop,” she gritted, glaring at me. “If we make a scene, we will be escorted out and that won’t go over well with my mother. Sapphire has a strict no-bullshit policy, and you are reeking of it. If you don’t want to get tossed out, dust it off and leave me the fuck alone.”
Her chin trembled and her nose reddened, but she swallowed. The frozen glower returned. That one moment of vulnerability gave me a smidgeon of hope. At some point today, I’d make her listen to me.
As the day wore on, faking my fucking grin for readers with no concept of boundaries became more challenging. More than one broad tried to grab my dick and even more groped my chest. The no-touching policy meant very little to some bitches, even if both Effie and Daria reminded them each time they got too handsy.
“Thank you so much,” a brunette squealed once Effie snapped a picture with her cellphone, absolutely starstruck by Daria. She’d stammered through her request for a picture, and when Daria agreed, I feared she’d pass the fuck out.
Effie handed the woman her phone back with a smile, though the brunette’s attention was still squarely on her mother. Not only was Effie acting as her mother’s assistant, but as her photographer, too. She took a fuckton of pictures to post on Daria’s social media page, including capturing fan reactions of the moment they met their favorite author and the eye candy she brought along.
“It’s no problem…umm…I’m sorry, dear, what did you say your name was again?” Daria asked, settling back in her seat.
“Ophelia,” the woman provided, turning her attention to me. She swept me with an appreciative glance and a blush rose in her cheeks. Glancing over her shoulder at the two motherfuckers she’d arrived with, she looked at me again and gnawed at her lower lip. “Umm, can I take a picture with you, too?”
I glanced at Effie, gauging her reaction. Her expression was blank, showing zero evidence of being upset with me or caring about the attention other women showered on me. I’d been stealing looks at her all fucking day, hoping to see…hell, I didn’t know what. Another chink in her armor? A smile? I felt like a goddamn simp, clambering for her attention and wanting to sulk each time she denied me. Why, I didn’t know. She gave me what the fuck I’d told her I wanted. I should be celebrating because she took my words to heart. Instead, her total shutout drove me up a goddamn wall.
“Are you going to answer her, Slice?” Effie’s question snapped me back to the present.
Shit.
I’d been staring at her.
But, fuck, she was gorgeous. Her curls were flowing free today, and her tight black outfit clung to her curves, curves I had the pleasure of seeing in their full glory. Big Boy roused.
I cleared my throat, looking at Ophelia and summoning my grin. I hated fucking speaking in the Southern accent Moose had, all things considered, but Daria insisted on it.
Of course she fucking did.
Thank every deity in existence that none of my club brothers were there, or I’d never live this shit down. Nor would I ever convince Riker that I should be Slice instead of Pretty Boy.
“A photo? Well, of course, darlin’,” I purred, laying it on a little thicker than needed and dragging my eyes over her figure.
Maybe if Effie thought I found Ophelia attractive, she’d stop acting like an ice queen. However, while Ophelia was pretty in her own right, she couldn’t touch Effie.
I must’ve laid it on a little too thick because one of the broad’s friends stalked over. Since Ophelia stepped to Daria’s table, the two men remained in the background, content to chat with each other. Now both were glaring daggers at me. What the fuck was I missing? Fuck, at first glance, the three of them seemed like good friends. However, the slightly taller one wrapped a possessive arm around Ophelia’s waist.
“Fuck, no, she can’t take a picture with you,” he growled, wrenching her away with such force she stumbled and his jacket fell open.
“Stop being a fucking entitled asshole, asshole,” the other motherfucker chastised, though I barely heard him.
When the asshole’s movements briefly opened his jacket, I noticed a motorcycle cut, though the patches were covered by his leather jacket. My eyebrows rose, but I decided not to think too much about it. Once the chick left, they’d be gone, too. A Satan’s Sinner wouldn’t bring a woman to buy a book. They’d fuck me up.
“I’m fine, Stretch,” Ophelia said. She was a pretty woman with chocolate brown eyes and rich brown hair. She smirked at the motherfucker who’d yanked her. “Cash is just jealous.”
“Jealous?” Cash barked, his blue eyes narrowing. “The fuck I am. Why the fuck would I be jealous of a pretty face pretending to be a bad motherfucker?”
“You sure about that?” I couldn’t resist the jab. This motherfucker didn’t know jack about me. I nodded to his jacket. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Ophelia lifted on her toes and kissed Cash, then turned and kissed Stretch. I blinked and exchanged a glance with Effie. Shock was written on her face. Pre Effie, I might’ve been green with envy. Now, I mentally hi-fived their game and moved on…
Wait, what ?
Amusement danced in Cash’s eyes as he focused on me. “Years ago, I would’ve taken you up on your offer, pretty boy, but I’m happily married.” He nodded to Stretch. “ And in love with our woman.”
“Ignore him,” Stretch growled to me, although I couldn’t think of a fucking thing to say.
I’d never laid eyes on that motherfucker and, yet, he threw pretty boy at me as an insult.
Interest lit Daria’s eyes. I couldn’t imagine what might be going through her head and I didn’t want to fucking know.
“You’re a throuple?” Effie squeaked.
“Don’t say that too loud, princess,” Cash drawled, and winked at her.
My hands fisted at my side.
Daria leaned in. “Male-male-female?” she breathed, her eyes bright.
Cash shrugged, uneasiness dropping into his face. “Daria, right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I can give you several ideas for your novels, but real life is messy, and it isn’t tied into a neat little bow.”
“Will you charge her?” Effie asked.
Cash dug in his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He took one from the pack and prepared to light it.
Ophelia snatched it from between his lips. “You can’t smoke in here, Cash.”
He grunted again, then shook his head, and frowned at Effie. “Won’t charge her. Fee loves her books. Besides, I don’t need the fucking money.”
“We can all use a little extra money,” Daria said.
“Not Cash,” Ophelia said proudly. “Neither Stretch.”
Stretch kissed her again. “Don’t have the deep pockets of the Masons and the McCalls, babe.”
“Mason?” Daria said. She nodded to Effie and tittered. “Any relation to Sloane Mason? Effie’s in love with him.”
“Mom!”
“He’s gorgeous,” Ophelia said, nodding at Effie in girly commiseration. “Besides Meggie, I’ve never seen eyes so gorgeous and blue.”
“Who is Meggie?” Daria asked.
“My brother’s wife,” Ophelia answered. “They’ve been together for almost eighteen years now. I’ve known Sloane almost as long and I’ve never decided which one of them has the most beautiful eyes.” She grinned. “I’ll say him because I find him sexy as fuck.”
“If you say that to that fucking asshole, I’m never talking to you again, Fee,” Cash said woefully. “His ego is big enough.” He looked from Daria to Effie. “He’s married to my little sister.”
Daria gasped and Effie’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Meet us later for drinks,” Ophelia said to Effie. “We’ll call him and let you talk to him.”
“No way!” Effie cried, her eyes round.
“Are you serious?” Daria said. “You’d do that for my Effie?”
“You’re my favorite romance writer and you’re about to sign my books. The least I can do is introduce Effie to Sloane and Georgie.”
“Fine,” Cash snapped, back to being a surly motherfucker. “Let’s go. I have business to see to.”
“Not yet,” Ophelia said. “I have to get Effie’s number and my books signed.” She smiled shyly at me. “And I still want a picture with you.”
“Fuck no!” Cash growled.
“Welcome back, asshole,” Stretch said, shaking his head.
“Behave, you two.” Ophelia’s coo broke into my dumbfounded outrage. “I promise I will make you both very happy when we get upstairs.”
Cash grunted.
Stretch wrapped an arm around her, brushed his lips over hers again, and nodded at me. “You don’t really need a picture with this dude, do you, babe?”
A small smile played on Daria’s lips. “Aww, c’mon guys, it’s just a picture!”
In control of her excitement, Effie smiled, revealing adorable dimples and fucking glowing despite our argument. Had she truly been that upset in the first place, or was she just that good at hiding her feelings? She hadn’t texted me or tried to call me to change my fucking mind about my decision.
She told me she wanted more, then accepted when I said I didn’t. Not a text. A call. A fucking visit to my room to seduce me into her way of thinking.
I’ll bet she didn’t even miss me at the fucking dinner. She’d probably turned her pretty smile on a motherfucker I hated—didn’t know his fucking ass but couldn’t stand him—charmed him with her wit and opinions, and suggested they keep in contact on the Gram.
That stung the fuck out of me.
“Let the girl live a little,” Daria added.
“What the fuck’s that mean, lady? Mind your damn business,” Cash snapped.
Effie’s smile dropped.
I tensed, positioning myself closer to Effie and Daria, and examining the men for weapons. If they were bikers, chances were they packed heat.
“Don’t talk to her like that, asshole,” Effie replied, glaring daggers at the guy.
She tried to step up to him, uncaring that he was bigger than her. Out of instinct, I placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in place. She froze, transferring her stare to me before shrugging my hand away. And fuck, did that rejection sting.
Luckily, Stretch spoke up, forestalling further interference.
“Cash, stop being a goddamn jackass and chill out.” Sighing, he gave me another dirty glare before looking at Effie and Daria. “Sorry, ladies. We’ll go now.”
He grabbed Cash’s hand and dragged him away.
Ophelia’s face was fully red. “I’m sorry.”
As she hurried off, I gave her a thumbs up.
Once they walked out of the ballroom, I released a disbelieving laugh.
“That was some bullshit,” I said with a shake of my head.
“Some people have no goddamn sense.” Effie looked at her mother. “You all right, Mom?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. I wish he had told me his ideas. I’m sure you know Ophelia won’t introduce you to Sloane now.” Daria shrugged. “If they were telling the truth. I mean, what are the odds.”
Effie’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “You’re right, Mom.”
Daria placed a hand on her chest. “But Cash was so sexy protecting Ophelia. Oh, swoon! That’s how Moose would act over Darcy, so I’ll use this as inspiration.”
Despite myself, I studied Effie. I wanted her opinion on the matter. Would she want me to be so protective over her? Or would she tear into me, as she’d begun to tear into that prick?
Fuck.
No, I couldn’t think like that. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever become of me and Effie. She was a good fuck, and that’s it. Nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.
Our friendship just had me confused.
Daria’s smile returned and a giggle escaped her. “If I’m honest, I was a little jelly. Who wouldn’t want a hot guy getting all possessive over them?”
Effie wrinkled her perfect nose. “Eww, Mom.”
“Oh, hush. I’m not talking about your father. He’ll never make a scene like that in public. In private, though—”
“Oh my gosh, I’m not listening!” Effie screeched, slapping her hands over her ears. “Lalalala!”
Daria laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in at the childish display.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, darling,” Daria said when her daughter dropped her hands. She glanced at her phone, humming. “It’s nearly lunchtime. Why don’t you two grab a bite to eat?”
Fuck, yes. That would allow me time to speak to Effie, to clarify what I said. I liked her— really fucking liked her —but there was a list of reasons why we’d never work. It’s not you, it’s me was a cliché route to take, but in this case, it was pure honesty.
“Ok—”
“I’m not hungry, Mom,” Effie interrupted, suddenly tense. “You and Slice go. I’ll man the table.”
Traffic to her table hadn’t been that heavy for the past twenty minutes. Not that Daria noticed Effie’s smokescreen.
“Well, okay.” She stood from her seat behind the table and looked at me. “Slice—”
“I’ll wait.” After today, I was sure Effie would block me, ensuring we’d never clear the air. “I’m not that hungry, either.”
“Aww, shucks, looks like I’m eating alone.” Daria sighed, giving me puppy dog eyes, or at least attempting to. “Come keep me company?”
Effie looked at her mother as if she’d grown two heads, and I found myself unable to say anything. Because, shit, for someone who claimed to love their husband, she was always a little too flirty. Alternatively, she could be trying to lure me away to talk to me about her other daughter, Bassie. That didn’t interest me in the slightest, because it wasn’t Bassie I wanted, but her sister.
“You wouldn’t want fans to miss their favorite author and Moose, would you?” I asked, praying the question sent her away.
Daria deflated but nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll be right back, then.”
She disappeared into the crowd, heading to the breakroom where refreshments were kept.
“You should’ve gone with her.” Effie set her camera down and dropped into one of the seats at the table. “She probably wanted to talk to you about Cassie.”
Oh, fuck, that was her name. No matter, Cassie, Bassie, Dassie, she didn’t interest me. She could be as stunning as her mother and sister, and I wouldn’t want her.
“I’m sure you’d love to add another girl to your roster.”
“I don’t want Cassie, Effie,” I murmured, the jab annoying the hell out of me.
She paused, then shrugged. “Then you did good not going with Mom, because she wants y’all together.”
“I’m aware, but I don’t care. I want—”
“Save it,” she interrupted, pinning me with a hard stare. “We don’t have to talk, Slice, and you don’t have to lead me on. You got what you wanted, and I’m not going to say anything to my mother, so there won’t be any drama on that end.”
I slammed my hands on the table and caught the attention of a few people nearby. Effie jumped. I closed my eyes and took a breath, willing myself to calm down. She was hurt and had every right not to talk to me, but her dismissive tone and curt words grated on my last fucking nerve.
“I didn’t just want to fuck you, Effie.” I deliberately stayed quiet to avoid attracting more attention. “I had no intention of fucking you, but—”
“Oh, so I seduced you?” she asked sarcastically. “Poor little you, the big bad college girl using her feminine wiles and dragging you to bed.”
Jesus fucking Christ, this girl.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t sending signals my way all night, and don’t pretend to know what I’m thinking,” I growled, meeting her glare with one of my own. “I like you, Effie. I liked fucking you, yes, but that wasn’t all it was. I enjoyed your company, enjoyed talking to you, so don’t think you’re just a piece of ass.”
Finally—fucking finally—she started to soften, vulnerability creeping onto her face. “Then if you like me, why can’t we be more?”
Fuck, maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she had the right idea, and I should’ve left well enough alone. But her ignoring me, and the disdain in her eyes the few times she looked at me, affected my ability to think rationally. Because I wasn’t considering anything but fixing the damage I’d done, even if it’d been a necessary move. Perhaps I was a selfish asshole, wanting to have my cake and eat it too, wanting Effie to want me even while I knew the complications that being with her would bring.
“Well?” she whispered, the hope in her eyes tangling me the fuck up.
Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair. Even if the thought of making Effie mine appealed to me, she wasn’t my ol’ lady. Maybe once the bounty on my head was dealt with, I’d come clean and lay everything out for us to have a shot at something serious. But for now, I’d give her a watered-down version of the truth.
“My lifestyle isn’t cut out for a girl like you, babe.” A million scenarios flashed through my mind. They all involved Effie hurt if I staked my claim. “Believe it or not, I’m just trying to protect you.”
She laughed, devoid of humor. “That isn’t for you to decide. I’m a grown woman, Slice, capable of making my own decisions. Stop acting like my parents and babying me because you don’t want to admit the truth. You don’t want anything serious with me, so don’t bullshit me. It hurts, but I’ll get over it.”
For fuck’s sake, was she not listening to me? If she could read between the lines, the conversation would be much simpler.
“Goddamn it, Effie—”
“Save it, Slice.” The mask she’d been wearing all day slipped back in place. “It’s better if we just keep things professional and forget about our lovemaking.”
“I don’t want—”
This time, it wasn’t Effie who interrupted me, but her mother.
“What’s going on here?” Daria asked, her sudden appearance taking me aback.
Shit, but I needed to get it together. If she’d been an enemy, I would be a dead motherfucker, all because I was hung up on the pretty little thing seated before me.
“Nothing, Mom.” Effie stood and reclaimed her camera. “Slice and I were just talking.”
Perhaps I hadn’t given Daria enough credit, because she looked ready to call bullshit. Her eyes flickered between me and Effie, brows furrowed. “Talking about what?”
“Stuff,” I grumbled, my already shitty mood plummeting. “I’m ready to eat now.”
Before either woman protested, I strolled away. My appetite still hadn’t appeared, but I needed a breather, needed to get away from my overbearing boss and her infuriating minx of a daughter.
Most of all, I needed a goddamn drink, and for my feelings for Effie Monroe to fucking disappear.