Chapter 24 Christianna
Chapter twenty-four
Christianna
It’s hot and sticky, and that margarita is going to hit so good.
I wind through the tables until I spot the top of Meg’s blonde head. Same idea, messy buns losing the war with the humidity.
I pass behind her and give her a quick one-armed hug.
“Sorry, parking was a nightmare,” I murmur as I slide into the seat across from her and take my first perfect sip of the spicy margarita.
Cold glass. Ice clinking. Jalapeno heat blooming slow and steady. I sigh and shoot her a rueful smile.
“I thought I had time to run home and shower. I underestimated traffic and everyone deciding to leave early on a Friday.”
She grins. “I walked. Which was its own special hell. Whoever said you get used to the humidity is an idiot.”
“Wow. Legs of steel. Isn’t this, like, eight miles from your place?”
“I’m staying at the International House. They rented the whole top floor. We’re in different penthouses.”
“Fancy, fancy.”
“Remy’s paying. They got creeped out at the opera house, so he moved all operations.”
“Ah.” I lift a brow. “The dark angel resurfaced? I thought we’d seen the last of her when it closed down.”
Meg’s eyes cloud, just for a second. “Yeah. She’s back. She hasn’t hurt anyone, but she’s overseeing things like a boss bitch, from what I can tell.” She tilts her head. “How did the concert go?”
“Great until I got home. Eviction notice. They sold the building. I’ve got two weeks to get out.” I take a long drink before reaching for the pitcher. “I’m debating whether it’s worth paying a lawyer just to force the full thirty days.”
Meg winces. “Ouch. Shit. What are you going to do? It takes forever to find a decent place around here.”
I shrug. “I can afford it. The settlement. The interest is enough I don’t need to touch their blood money.” I take a deep gulp of my margarita and pretend the sting behind my eyes is the burn of the drink.
Meg reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“I can afford to do something,” I add. “I just haven’t been ready to. And now it feels like I don’t get a choice.”
The server drops a towering plate of nachos between us. Melted cheese. Pulled pork. Mango. My mouth floods.
Meg must be thinking the same thing because we both dive in, conversation suspended until the first few bites settle.
“Good pick,” she mumbles, wiping her fingers. She scans the plate, hunting for the perfect cheese-to-pork ratio.
“You want options on the whole apartment thing,” she says lightly, “or do you want me to leave you alone to figure it out?”
I tilt my head. “If you hear of something, tell me. Otherwise…” I shrug.
“You know you could stay with me, but…”
I laugh. “Your mom and I clash a little too hard.”
She snorts. “You don’t clash. She bosses, you nod, then do whatever you were going to do anyway. She bitches at me. I whine to you. It’s a system.”
I roll my glass between my palms. “I’m sorry.”
She arches an eyebrow and takes a long sip.
I look away. “I shouldn’t have pulled back the way I did. I haven’t been there for you. At all.” I hesitate. “Why aren’t you dancing anymore?”
Her gaze slides off mine, expression shuttered. “Drink up,” she says. “Then come stay with me tonight at the hotel.”