Andhe’s taller.
Twins, yet I barely clear five-six, while he gets to be an even five-ten. It’s stupid.
“Fine. I’m cranky. Dad told his stupid little receptionist that I’m uptight and have no sense of humor.”
“Because you are, and you don’t.” He exhales smoke through his nose. “Is that the new receptionist? What’s her name? Flossie? Barbie? Something dumb.”
“Candy.”
He nods. “Yeah, Candy.” He grins, nodding. “She’s hot.” A glance at me. “I nailed her.”
I gag. “Ofcourseyou did.”
He shrugs. “Perks of the job, right?”
I turn slowly to stare at him. “Perks of thejob? What job, Dell? You’ve never worked a day in your useless fuckboy life.”
“Again, you wound me,” he says, miming an arrow hitting his chest over his heart. “I’ll have you know I got you guys the Oak Glen contract. I was nailing the daughter of the guy who owns the property, and talked McKenna Construction up to her, and she mentioned it to her dad, and he hired you. So, you’re welcome. Consider me your marketing department in the wild. A traveling salesman, you might say.”
“Nailing. Why nailing? Why do you always say younailedthis girl or that girl? It’s so…gross. Demeaning, and immature, and just…gross.”
He frowns at me. “What do you want me to say?” His voice takes on a deep, mocking tone. “I’mmaking loveto them? Fuck that. They’re hookups. I’m nailing them. It’s what it is.” He points at me. “Not my fault you’re a sexless prude, Dee-Dee. Some of us actually like to live a little, unwind, enjoy life.”
His words are an echo of Daddy’s from earlier, except coming from Dell they sound douchey rather than wise.
I swallow the last of my glass of wine before I throw it in his face. Go inside, pause before shutting the door. “You can see yourself home, Dell. And next time you think about dropping by to spend quality time with me? Don’t.” I slam the door and lock it.
Do I pour myself another glass of wine? Yes I do. Have I had more than my usual allowance of two glasses? Yes I have.
Am I sorry? Only a little.
Sexless prude? SEXLESS PRUDE? Who thefuckdoes he think he is?
A fist pounds on the door. “Dee-Dee.”
I ignore it.
Tell my Alexa to play Justin Timberlake very loudly.
“DEE-DEE!”
“God help me,” I mutter to myself. I pause the music and open the door a crack. “What, Dell?”
He’s sheepish. “I, uh.”
“What could youpossiblywant from me?”
“Do you have any spec homes done enough that I could crash in one for a few days?”
I blink at him. “No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t let you. Also, why? You have a three-million-dollar condo in LA.”
The trademark Dell grin, sheepish, sarcastic, and gloating all at once. “I sort of told this model I’m…uh,dating…that I own my own home up here. I just need it for a weekend. I have a guy who can come in and furnish the place all pimped out, and I’ll have it cleaned out and empty again by Monday at noon. Promise.”
“A model.”
“Yeah. Amber Jane. You may have heard of her.”
“Does she have a last name, or just two stupid first names?”
