“I read through all your files.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Shelly…” I began. But I had no words. Not a single one. “Don’t lie to me again,” I finished lamely.
“Are there parameters that are acceptable?”
What was scary was that she was completely serious.
“No. Lies are not acceptable at all. Not when they could affect my business. If you knock somebody flat on his ass, you have to tell me, because I might have to make up a story to lessen the damage.”
“You mean you would lie about it instead of me.”
I rocked my head back and forth as I thought about it. “No, but I can set up the situation so that it’s presented in the best possible light.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?” Did she just agree? I thought she did, but with Shelly, you never could be sure.
“Okay,” she said again with a nod. “Can we go and get something to eat? I’m kind of hungry.” She laid a hand on her stomach just as it let out a loud grumble.
“Kind of? I’m kind of scared after hearing that.” A grin hovered in my mind, even if I didn’t let it show on my face.
She turned and whispered to me, “I only consume men who are weaker than me.” She smiled a slow, sultry smile and, quite frankly, it scared the shit out of me. She tapped her finger on her temple. “Mentally, of course. Not physically.”
“Explain.” I just said that one word. Nothing more.
“Well,” she said. She bit her lips together and stared ahead. “Never mind,” she said quickly, shaking her head.
“No,” I replied. “Enlighten me.”
“Men are sometimes simple. They like sex, food, and whatever their favorite pastime might be. If you give them those three things, and you’re really good at being what they need for you to be, they’ll do just about anything for you.” She heaved in a sigh.
“What’s that sigh for? It sounds like you’ve found the formula for making men happy.” It was true. She was right. We are typically simple creatures. Much simpler than women, with their emotions and hormones.
“I’ve never made a man truly happy. Not like Lynn and Mason. What they have is special.” She scrunched down in her seat and pulled her knee up to her chest, then leaned her head against the window.
“Do you want that?” I asked. Shelly was talking and I was listening.
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Love makes you weak.”
“No,” I said. I reached over and adjusted the ice bag where it had slid from her knuckles. “Loving the wrong person makes you weak. Love, in general, does not.”
“Wait,” Shelly said. “You’re not married, are you?” She looked at me with sudden contempt.
“No, I’m not,” I said. Well, not really. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe never. Who knew anymore? “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she said quietly. “Let’s go for pizza. Carbs. Yum.” She smiled at me and a little piece of my heart melted a little.
I turned the car around and went in the other direction. If we were going for pizza, I knew the perfect place.
Chapter 12
Clark
“You really know how to treat a girl to a good time,” Shelly muttered as she sat next to me in the car. She had napkins spread over her lap and a drippy, greasy piece of pizza rested there on a paper plate.
“This is the best pizza in the city,” I said around a mouthful of goopy cheese and meat. “Quit being such a food snob.”
I’d taken her to my favorite food truck, which I followed with an app on my phone so I’d always know where to find them on any given day. The owner, Sheila, was a former client of mine. I’d helped her through a messy divorce with a cheating husband. Because of me and my ability to “surveil stuff” she’d gotten the food truck, the house, and the children in the divorce. Her cheating husband had gotten a black eye when he ran into my fist.
She was still grateful, and she still made the best pie in the city.
“I am not a food snob,” Shelly said. She picked up the pizza and folded it in half, then raised it to her lips and took a bite.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Of the pizza?”
“It’ll do,” she said, still chewing.
“It’ll do,” I repeated, stupefied. “This pizza is superb. Don’t talk bad about my favorite pizza place, woman,” I chided.
“What makes this pizza place so special?”
“It’s the best fucking pizza in the world.”
She snorted. “So it has nothing to do with the red-haired lady who was fawning all over you while you were ordering? I was standing right next to you, for God’s sake.”
“She wasn’t fawning. She was being nice.”
“She was being a nice woman who really really wants to fuck you, Clark. Are you that unaware? Seriously?” She took another bite of her pizza and then returned it to the plate in her lap. “I can’t enjoy pizza made by such a twat as that. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“Twat?” I said. I laughed out loud. “Did you really just use the word twat in casual conversation?”
“What’s wrong with the word twat?”
“Nothing.” I snorted out another laugh I couldn’t hold back. I laid my head back and chuckled, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. “Twat.”
“What’s so funny?”
“Twat, Shelly. That shit’s funny.” I took another bite of my pizza. I pointed to hers. “Eat,” I said. “The way your stomach was sounding, I thought it was going to attack me. You need nourishment. Eat.” I pointed to her pizza again.
She lifted the pizza and took another bite and made another face.
“Sheila is happily remarried to a friend of mine,” I said. “His name is Ralph and he’s a nice guy. You’d like him.”
“Does he know she wants to fuck you?” Shelly parried.
“She doesn’t want to fuck me.” Just then a rap sounded on my window. I looked over to find Sheila. She smiled at me and motioned for me to roll my window down. I did. She leaned over and held out a piece of chocolate chess pie. “Thought you might like this,” she said.
I took it from her, and she leaned into my car and kissed my cheek, lingering just a little too long for comfort.
“Thanks,” I croaked.
“Any time,” she said, and she winked at me. Then she went back to her food truck.
Shelly smirked. “Told you so.”
“I hate you,” I said as I rolled the window back up.
“And yet you still would give your left nut to taste my lip balm,” she said quietly. Then she stuffed her pizza into her mouth and took a huge bite.
I snorted. “Shows how much you know. I don’t have a left nut.”
She turned to face me, her mouth open ever so slightly. “You’re kidding,” she said around her food.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I pushed her chin up with my finger. “Close your mouth. I can see your pizza.”