by Lucy Score
“Do you have issues with vertigo?” Gabe asked. “I can help you rearrange the crystals in your ears to make you steadier on your feet.”
Shut up, Gabe.
“My balance is just fine,” Nick said, crossing his arms and making sure to flex his own biceps. Maybe they weren’t gladiator-sized, but they were nothing to be ashamed of.
He should have done push-ups in the parking lot first.
“Gabe, this is Nick,” Riley interjected. “Gabe knows we’re not really engaged and that you’re investigating Dickie’s murder. Nick knows that I am… you know…”
“A superior clairvoyant with unparalleled gifts?” Gabe suggested.
If Riley Thorn had a fan club, this guy wanted to be president.
“Who is this guy?” Nick asked his pretty, fake fiancée whose lips were now pink and swollen. Bigger question: Why did Thorn trust him?
She worked up a blush. “Well, he’s my trainer.”
“Your trainer?” He was not a fan of the idea of Gabe the Gargantuan getting Riley all sweaty and then helping her stretch.
She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was within earshot. “We’re telling people he’s my personal trainer, but he’s kind of my…” She looked beseechingly at Gabe.
“I am Riley’s not-fake spiritual guide,” Gabe announced grandly.
If the guy was waiting for a standing ovation, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one from this audience. “Hang on a second,” Nick said. “Aren’t spirit guides supposed to be spirits?”
Yeah, he’d done some more Googling. Big deal.
“Spirit guides are not among the living,” Gabe agreed.
“So, what I hear you saying is you’re either dead or not human,” Nick said with a straight face.
Riley rolled her eyes, but he caught the lift at the corners of her lips.
“I am most definitely alive,” Gabe said stiffly.
“Gabe is my spiritual guide, not spirit guide,” Riley cut in. She pinched Nick’s forearm hard. “We just started working together.”
“So the better you get at this psychic thing, the less you’ll need extra-large Dwayne Johnson here?” Nick pressed.
Gabe looked like someone had just punched a teddy bear in the face. “I can only hope that Riley’s need for my services will outlast your need for hers,” he retorted.
Nick stepped in on the mountain of a man and looked up. “Are you accusing me of using her?”
“Okay. Let’s stop this conversation right here,” Riley said, wedging herself between them. “I don’t need more drama and weirdness in my life.”
“I would not dream of complicating your life,” Gabe promised.
Nick wasn’t about to make any such promises. “Oh, come on, man. She’s engaged. You can stop with the sucking up.”
“Nick, shut up,” she growled.
“I agree with Riley,” Gabe said. His blinding smile was really starting to piss Nick off. “You should definitely cease talking.”
“Listen, Andre the Giant, if you don’t stop flirting with my fiancée, I’m going to find a step stool, climb it, and punch that smile off your face.”
Riley slapped her hands to his chest. “Nick, get a grip. If you can’t play nice, then the deal’s off. Got it?”
Gabe peered over Riley’s shoulder, his smile smug. But Nick was used to being the troublemaker. And it was usually the troublemaker who got the girl.
“Where’s the ice? I got room-temperature martinis in here,” Mrs. Penny bellowed from the parlor.
“Coming!” Riley called back. “Come on, gentlemen. Remember, Gabe. You’re my personal trainer. Nick, you’re my fiancé.”
“I think we have our roles straight,” Nick said.
“Do not underestimate these people.” She wagged a finger in his direction. “They might look old and helpless, but I’ve seen them make Food Dude drivers cry.”
“Honey, don’t underestimate my charm,” he said, flashing her a wink.
He followed her into the parlor where he’d helped untie Fred’s legs. It was still crowded with mismatched furniture and now also the elderly. Mrs. Penny was behind a small mahogany bar, eyeballing her pours in a cocktail shaker. Her cane was propped against a bookcase stuffed with leather volumes of books that looked as if they hadn’t been opened in a few decades and the kind of knickknack debris that accumulates over a lifetime.
Mr. Willicott, the Denzel Washington-lookalike with the short-term memory of a stoner, had his face buried in a hardback romance novel. Fred the Freakishly Flexible was sitting cross-legged at the organ, noodling out what sounded like a funeral dirge. Lily, dressed in a plaid nightgown, was draped across the weird-looking green velvet couch thing like she was having her portrait painted.
“’Bout damn time,” Mrs. Penny snapped when Gabe delivered the bucket of ice.
“My apologies, Mrs. Penny. I hand-selected each cube for you. I did not wish to disappoint you with inferior ice.”
“Well, aren’t you a charmer?” the elderly bartender purred.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nick muttered under his breath.
Riley elbowed him in the gut.
Which reminded him, maybe he should step up his gym workouts. He didn’t need the sixteen-pack that was on display under the big guy’s skin-tight t-shirt. But maybe a few more planks and crunches a week were warranted.
“Nick’s here, everybody,” Riley said with feigned cheer.
“Whatcha got in the bag?” Mrs. Penny asked as she added Gabe’s hand-selected bullshit ice to a cocktail shaker. “Sex toys?”
“Uhhhh…” He wasn’t sure how to handle that one.
“Nick is spending the night,” Riley said dryly.
“So definitely sex toys,” Mrs. Penny repeated.
“Don’t embarrass the kids,” Lily admonished.
Nick was knocking on thirty-eight and took mild offense to being called a kid.
“Sex with or without accessories is a normal, healthy function,” Fred weighed in unnecessarily.
Mr. Willicott grumbled under his breath and turned the page in the novel.
“You know, in some ancient cultures, it was typical for tribes to wait outside the hut while relationships were consummated. They would chant and sing. Riley, we’d be happy to sing outside your door while you make love since it’s been so long for you,” Lily offered.
“Kill me now,” Riley whispered to Nick.
He used the opportunity to slide an affectionate arm around her waist and give Gabe a “come at me” glare. “I don’t think we’ll need any chanting, but thanks,” he told Lily, giving Riley a squeeze.
“Dirty gin martinis up,” Mrs. Penny announced.
“Lily has been taking anthropology courses on the Internet,” Gabe explained, picking up four of the drinks in his massive hands. Spiritual Guide Gabe could bitch slap someone into oblivion with one of those flesh-toned pizza trays.
He delivered the first to Riley and then reluctantly gave one to Nick.
“And Mrs. Penny is taking an online bartending course,” Riley said, crossing her eyes at Nick over the rim of her glass.
He grinned. Damn, she was cute.
Fred cut off his funeral dirge to take the martini Gabe proffered.
“Happy happy hour, everyone,” Lily sang from the couch.
Nick grabbed Riley’s free hand and dragged her over to the loveseat across from Lily. He crammed himself onto the cushion next to her. Gabe took the hint and sat by himself in a huge wingback chair near the organ. He took a careful sip of his martini, eyes widening then blinking rapidly.
“What is this?” Gabe asked.
“Alcohol, big guy. More specifically, gin,” Mrs. Penny called.
“I have never had alcohol before,” he said.
The dude was definitely not human.
“This is nice. Do you guys do this often?” Nick asked, priming the pump for his low-key, super strategic interrogation.
“Every Friday,” Mrs. Penny sai
d, stepping out from behind the bar with an extra-large martini glass filled to the brim.
“All of you?” he pressed.
“Smooth, Santiago. Real smooth,” Riley whispered.
“Well, not all of us,” Fred said conspiratorially.
“Like putty in my hands,” Nick said over the rim of his glass only loud enough for Riley to hear him. “What about Dickie?” he asked.
“Who?” Willicott grumbled, putting his book down. “Man can’t find a quiet place to read.”
“The dead guy,” Fred yelled in Willicott’s direction.
“Who’s dead?”
“Dickie Frick. The guy who lives on the third floor,” Mrs. Penny shouted. “Someone shot him in the head.”
“When did that happen? He owes me money,” Willicott complained. He picked up his martini and sniffed it.
“How much did he owe you?” Nick asked.
“Who?” Willicott asked, taking a sip of gin.
“Mr. Willicott, how much money did the dead guy upstairs owe you?” Riley enunciated each word at full volume.
The man rose from his chair and wandered out of the room.
“That’s probably the last we’ll see of him,” Lily said. “He gets lost in the hallway sometimes. Did I ever tell you about the time I was coming home with groceries?”
“I don’t think so,” Nick said.
“Here we go again,” Riley muttered.
He toyed with the ends of her hair as Lily launched into a long-winded story involving bags of groceries and Dickie not holding the door for her. Nick didn’t find it relevant to his investigation, but at least someone was talking about the deceased. Eventually one of them would say something important.
“$2,150.”
Everyone turned toward the doorway. Mr. Willicott stood there, peering at the small leather notebook in his hand.
“Dickie owed you two grand?” Nick asked.
“Yeah. I had the Mother Chuckers in the championship last weekend. They eeked one out over the Balls of Glory,” Willicott said.
“Uh, are you saying you were betting on the summer rec dodgeball league?” Riley asked.
“And winning,” Willicott said, waving his notebook. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his martini and novel.
“What is dodgeball?” Gabe asked.
“Hafta go down to the bar and see if I can get my cash,” Willicott mused.
“Dickie was running a gambling ring out of Nature Girls?” Nick clarified.
“Well, don’t that beat all,” Mrs. Penny said. Her martini vat was half empty already.
“Why the recreational league?” Riley asked.
Willicott shrugged. “Summer’s slow for sports. Dickie ran books on everything. I lost four hundred bucks on toddler soccer last summer.”
“Told you, Thorn,” Nick said.
25
7:30 p.m., Friday, June 26
“I don’t get it,” Riley hiccupped as she led the way upstairs. Most of their neighbors were still in the parlor working on their fourth round of martinis. Nick had slipped her his third one to stay sober for the planned breaking and entering. She’d managed his and dumped hers in a fake plant. She wasn’t exactly drunk, but she sure wasn’t sober.
“Don’t get what?” he asked. His hands settled on her hips from behind, and she stifled a tipsy purr.
“Have fun having sex,” Lily called up the stairs as she tottered past.
“Thanks, Lily,” Nick said. Riley heard the smile in his voice and tried not to picture the dimples.
He was just putting on a show. Playing the role of a guy in love with a girl, she reminded herself.
But his hands stayed where they were even after her neighbor disappeared.
“You know, being here with you makes me nervous,” he said suddenly.
“Really?” She’d applied deodorant twice, dusted her apartment, and—because why not—even did a quick smudging with leftover sage incense her mother had stashed in the Emergency Bad Vibes kit.
His grip on her hips stopped them both on the stairs. “Yeah. It was right about here that I caught you mid-flight.”
Oh, that. “I promise not to tackle you down the stairs tonight,” she said.
“Back to what you don’t get,” he prompted.
She started for the third floor. Nick’s hands stayed firmly planted, and she tried not to think about why they were there or where else they’d been… er… would be. “Sports betting. It’s legal now in Pennsylvania. Can’t someone just walk into the casino and place a bet?”
“Even easier than that,” he said cheerfully. “You can open an app or a website and gamble your life savings away.”
They got to the top of the stairs, and she turned to look at him. He released his hold on her and gripped both sides of the railing, the picture of casual. Nick Santiago made a woman think he had all the time in the world to explore her.
“So why would Dickie be running some junior league bookie business when people can do it legally?”
Those dimples were putting on a show for her under a respectable layer of stubble. His eyes, that annoyingly enchanting mix of blue and green, were framed by sexy crinkles that she hadn’t yet fully appreciated.
“What’s the fun in doing something legal, Thorn?”
The bad boy in tight jeans and a rumpled t-shirt made an excellent point. Sometimes bad was fun.
Ugly orange and yellow flowers flashed into her mind. A lava lamp with fat, lazy bubbles. Nick. Naked. Holy guacamole.
“Riley?”
Gabe’s voice cut through her lust-fueled fantasy startling her. She very nearly took another header down the stairs, but Nick caught her.
“Huh? Wha… yeah?” she sputtered.
Nick was standing very close to her. The tips of his scuffed boots touched her toes. A few of his fingertips had found their way under the hem of her tank again and were currently setting the skin of her abdomen on fire.
“Is everything all right?” Gabe asked, peering up at them from the first floor.
“Uhhhhh.”
“She’s fine, Optimus Prime,” Nick said without breaking eye contact with her.
Could Gabe see her vision? Could Nick? Both were acting like weirdos. It was the last thing she needed. Two men in her head.
“I’m fine,” she said lamely.
Gabe gave her a long, searching look, then nodded. “If you need me, I will be down here.”
“She won’t need you tonight,” Nick promised.
Riley tried hard to ignore the barefoot Nick on her couch by making them a quick dinner of chicken and pasta.
They convened on the couch with plates and laptops. His long legs stretched out, bare feet resting on the coffee table. She sat cross-legged next to him, balancing computer and plate. Just another fake couple enjoying a fake Friday night in.
She scrolled through the yoga studio’s Facebook page stats. Engagement and followers were up. Tonight, Wander was hosting a flow class with a live DJ followed by a walk to an organic wine bar and tarot readings.
In the Thorn family, her mother and sister were the stars, and Riley was the assistant sitting at home on a Friday night.
She sighed.
“What’s that for?” Nick asked.
“If we were really dating, what do you think we’d be doing right now?” she asked.
His wolfish expression and the butter-melting, heavy-lidded gaze that traveled over her body said it all.
“Besides that. The sun isn’t even down on a Friday, and I’m in for the night. My sister has a live DJ and strobe lights, and I’m on my couch scheduling posts on her social media.”
“You know, we have a few hours to kill before everyone settles down,” he mused.
“And how do you propose to kill time?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth.
“Besides sex,” she interrupted.
“Besides sex? Huh. That’ll take a little more time, but I can come up with some op
tions.”
“Options that don’t cost anything, seeing as how my shoestring budget is double-knotted?”
He winked. “Honey, some of the best fun is free.”
“Stop talking about sex.”
He laughed and patted her thigh. “I’m not. Well, not just sex. Come on. Grab a pair of shoes and your keys.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find some Friday night fun.”
They snuck down the back staircase to the parking lot. Nick opened the driver’s side door and climbed up to release the soft top. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s illegal to have the top up on a night like this,” he insisted.
She’d had the top down once, and, after eating half of her own hair and getting caught in a rainstorm, she’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
But heading south on Front Street with the warm air whipping through her ponytail and a grinning Nick behind the wheel, she wondered how many other kinds of fun she’d decided weren’t worth the effort. The sun was dipping low, turning sky and river orange and gold as he took the Market Street Bridge.
Riley was pleasantly surprised when he exited onto City Island, a low swath of land that squatted in the middle of the river, separating the East and West Shores. It was home to, among other things, the Harrisburg Senators baseball stadium, a red and white riverboat, and a crapload of parking for people who worked downtown.
It was a nice spot. Except for the flooding and the mayfly hatches.
“Maybe he’s taking you fishing? I like this guy.”
Shut it, Uncle Jimmy.
“No baseball game tonight,” she observed as he pulled into an empty space in the parking lot.
“Nope.” He flashed her a grin. “Let’s go.”
They got out of the Jeep, and Nick took her hand to lead her up the concrete steps. To the right was the pedestrian bridge that connected the island with the city. On the left was a carriage house for the Harrisburg Police Department’s horses.
Nick pulled her down the asphalt path in front of the stables.
