I arched an eyebrow. “And what? No snarky comment?”
She shook her head. “I mean, nice is fine. Nice is boring as fuck, but I get it.” She smirked. “But, if you want snark…they say nice guys finish last, but in my experience, nice guys usually finishfirst, and have no clue how to finish you off.”
I sighed. “Yep, there we go.” I shook my head. “Anyway. He was very, very smart. He knew what he wanted, and he had a plan to get it, and he was following the plan.”
“Again, fine as far as it goes, but boring as fuck.” She faked a gruff, dumb voice. “I have planned out every single moment of my life and will not deviate from this plan for anything. There will benofun,noadventure, andnospontaneity what-so-fucking-ever.”
I ignored this, because…well, again, it was the brutal truth. That was Glen to a T. “He was articulate.”
She shrugged, made a face. “Can’t knock that one. Continue.”
“He was educated as hell. Stanford, and then Yale. He had connections he’d made himself, in the political world. His dad was connected, but Glen refused to use them.”
“Again, not much to critique there, so I’ll allow those.”
“How gracious of you,” I drawled, monotone, sarcastic. “He was easy to talk to. Good with money. Thoughtful. He always put the toilet seat down.”
“Fine, fine, and very nice. Well-trained.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t teach him that. His mom did, I think.”
“Ohhh, was he a momma’s boy?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
She nodded. “Makes sense.” She cackled. “Did she call him every week?”
I sighed, rubbed my forehead, looking away. “Um. Well?”
“No.No.” She shook her head. “Every day?”
I nodded. “Yeah. On his lunch break, at noon. You could set your watch to it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Did she cut the crusts off his sandwiches too?”
I blushed hard at that. “No, she did not.”
Lexie studied me. And then blanched, pale, visibly nauseous. “You—did—fucking—not.”
“It made him happy, okay?” I ripped open a sugar packet and dumped it on my plate.
She cackled, and then the cackling devolved into hysteria. “You fucking cut the crusts off his fucking sandwiches!” She slapped her forehead. “He was fucking his mother throughyou! You do realize that, right?”
Me: Five-seven, black hair, athletically slender but with a little extra oomph in the hips and bust. Blue eyes, a recessive trait from Dad.
Glen’s mom: five-six or seven, brown hair dark enough to be nearly black. Slender but with some curve. Light eyes.
Me: Given to nurturing. Authoritative by nature, being the eldest sister, but not a big fan of conflict. Not great at sitting still or being idle.
Glen’s mom: See preceding.
Fuck.
Lex was watching me, and saw the penny drop. “Now you see it, huh?”
“Yeah, and fuck you for that.”
She just laughed. “Ooooh, a swear. I really got you on that one.”
