Were these women simply scatterbrained or were they trying to leave their mark?
Who knows? I don’t care, I told myself as I stepped into the shower and stood under the warm spray, arms crossed over my chest.
Closing my eyes, I lifted my face into the showerhead and let the hot steam engulf me. I mean, I’d known Edric was a bit of a player. But still, I found myself wondering about these women who had slept on his bed, passed through these doors, stood under this shower.
As water sluiced down my body, I tried hard to ignore the dull ache beneath my ribs that might have been envy.
Is this a twinge of jealousy I’m feeling? I flinched before finding my composure. No. Not possible.
I didn’t believe in insta-love just like I didn’t believe in instant oatmeal.
It was probably just fondness I felt for him. Yep, that was it. Nothing more.
Honestly, it was impossible not to like the guy. Especially when he was so kind, so goddamn easy on the eyes, and so fun to be around. I found myself thoroughly enjoying his entertaining, teasing company.
Twenty minutes later, I was freshly showered and changed.
La dee da! With a pep in my step, I sauntered out of the bathroom and bellowed, “Rise and shine. Hustle and grind.”
Crickets.
“Huh.” I clucked my tongue, looking around and scanning the room. “Where did he go?”
Edric, it seemed, was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Six
Edric
“IF WE CALL YOU ‘DARLING’ will you make us pancakes?” Miguel and Adelaide sat perched on the kitchen bar stools, dangling their feet back and forth, watching me as I poured batter onto the griddle.
“I’m already making you guys pancakes.”
“Thanks, Edric!” Miguel tweeted chirpily. “I’d like to have my pancakes with a side of pancakes, please.”
“Sure thing.”
Then out of nowhere, I heard a loud gasp. “Satan,” he hissed. “I rebuke thee in the name of Jesus.”
Huh? What in God’s green earth is Miguel going on about now?
“What?” I said distractedly. When Miguel didn’t answer, I sent him a questioning look. However, he was far too busy staring at my ass while making the sign of the cross.
I shrugged. Well, I did have a nice butt if I say so myself. And so I went back to work, flipping pancakes on the griddle. “Who wants chocolate chips on their pancakes?” I called out.
“Me!” Adelaide exclaimed.
Radio silence from Miguel.
“I’ll take that as a no for you, Miguel.” I sprinkled a handful of chocolate chips onto the pancakes that were already golden brown and let them sit for few seconds.
“Yo, Adelaide,” Miguel said quietly. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Once the chocolate chips had melted, I served the pancakes onto a plate and set it on the island counter. When I glanced up, Adelaide and Miguel were exchanging horror-filled glances.
“What?” I asked. “What?”
“Your rec—rectum,” she stammered. “It’s bleeding.”
“Adelaide’s right,” he added grimly. “Your asshole is hemorrhaging.”
I frowned. “My asshole is what?”
Lucy chose that moment to stroll into the kitchen. “Hello,” she trilled cheerfully. “Good day. You must be Miguel and Adelaide. I’m Lucy.”
“Good day to you, Lucy.” Adelaide sent her a sunny smile.
“Oh, we know who you are,” Miguel said with sass.
“You do?”
“We do.” He flashed her a wide, toothy grin.
Lucy stood by the island and began drumming her fingers on the counter. “So tell me,” she said, “how do you guys know Edric?”
“Oh, I only hang out with him because he lives in a nice house,” Miguel said flippantly.
Adelaide stifled a giggle. “Same.”
“Ahem.” I coughed loudly. “Don’t listen to them. Adelaide’s married to my brother and Miguel’s her good friend.”
“Best friend,” he amended. “We’re besties forever and after we die, we’re gonna become ghosties and scare people for fun.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Lucy’s face as she inched her way around the island counter and sidled up next to me. “About your bloodied sweatpants,” she whispered urgently. “I can explain.”
So that’s what Miguel and Adelaide were making a big fuss about.
“What happened?” I poured more batter onto the griddle to make a fresh batch of pancakes. “Did you sodomize me in my sleep?”
“No.” A blush rose in her cheeks and bloomed down her neck. “I’m on my period.”
“And you’re telling me this—why?”
“Erm, I think my bum rubbed up against your bum while I was tossing in bed last night and somehow the stain... err, transferred?” Her voice pitched higher and she took a level breath. “I’m so sorry. I’m absolutely appalled.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I assured her. “It’s just a stain. I’m sure it’ll come out easily in the wash.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“No big deal.” I shrugged. “I’ve got an extensive collection of grey sweatpants. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.” I wasn’t, but the subtle smile that slowly eased one corner of her mouth made it all worthwhile. “How are you feeling?”
“Like someone punched me in my vagina.”
“Oof.” I reached a hand into the bag of Ghiradelli baking chips. “Chocolate chips on your pancakes?”
“Yes, please,” she said at once. “Pile ’em on.”
“As you wish.” I emptied the entire bag of chocolate chips onto the pancakes. “Anything for you, baby. Some chocolate-covered pancakes coming right up.”
Moments later, I flipped the pancakes onto a plate, added some fresh strawberries on the side, and handed the dish to Lucy. “Syrup and butter are on the counter. There’s fresh coffee. Or if you prefer hot tea, I can boil some water right now.”
“No, no. This is perfect! Thanks.” The edge in her voice was slowly fading.
“You have a healthy appetite,” Miguel remarked as she sat down. “Just like Adelaide right here.”
Lucy merely cocked her head and said, “The more I weigh the harder I am to kidnap.”
“No way! That’s what Edric always says.” Miguel looked from me to Lucy. “You and Edric seem to be hitting it off.”
“We are,” she replied. “We most definitely are. He’s obsessed with me.”
“Obsessed,” I called out, removing the last batch of pancakes from the griddle.
Lucy giggled, playing along. “And don’t you worry about your boy, Edric. We were just messing around last night.”
“Oh,” Adelaide remarked.
“I seeeeeeeee,” Miguel intoned, drawing out the word with deliberate intent.
“Uh-huh.” Lucy reached for the bottle of maple syrup. “We had a wild night, didn’t we, Edric?”
With a flick of my wrist, I turned off the burner. “Yep,” I said, popping the P. “Indeed we did.”
“Hmm.” Miguel rubbed his chin. “So what exactly did you guys do last night?”
Lucy poured some syrup over her pancakes and reached for a fork. “Well, Edric wanted to go to a party but I wasn’t feeling it.”
“What party?” Miguel inquired.
“A swingers’ party,” she said mildly.
“A swingers’ party?” Miguel appeared scandalized. “I had no idea Edric’s into that scene.”
“Welp, it’s definitely not my scene.” Lucy visibly cringed. “Have you watched those documentaries on HBO? They have me convinced that swingers are old hipsters with aging balls.”
“Sweaty balls,” Adelaide chimed in. “I’ve seen those documentaries and they all seem to feature geriatric men with gold chains weighing down their delicate necks.”
“I know, right?” Lucy shuddered. “
I was so grossed out. I’d rather die than be caught in that threesome. Or foursome. Although,”— she paused briefly, considering—“I would go to a swingers’ party for the food.”
Pursing her lips, Adelaide tapped a finger against them. “Right, they usually start out as potluck dinner parties before blowing up into orgies. And come to think of it, some of those casserole dishes and crockpot meals actually looked quite appetizing.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Lucy began to giggle helplessly. “Oh, my! This conversation has strayed way beyond its stated purpose. Anyway, back to my point, since Edric frequents swingers’ potlucks, I thought he might be bi-curious so I used a strap-on and hence,”—she gestured to my butt—“his bloodied sweatpants.”
WHAT THE EVER-LOVING FUCK? My jaw slackened and I almost dropped my plate. So this is the story she’s going with?
That devious, devious woman.
Miguel roared with laughter. “Bahahahahaha. I’m dying.”
“I’m deceased,” I said tonelessly, annoyed to be talked about as if I weren’t even there.
“That was a great story, Lucy. Thank you for that.” Miguel choked on a laugh. “I enjoyed it very much. Very much so.”
I chugged down my lukewarm coffee and struggled to keep a straight face.
My skeleton has left my body and may genuinely never return.
“Oh, God. The expression on Edric’s face right now.” Miguel snorted. “He looks like a bee just stung his nut sack.”
“My honor has been besmirched!” I feigned outrage. “Is nothing sacred between a man and a woman? Hell, is nothing sacred anymore?” I drained the rest of my coffee in one gulp.
“Nope,” Miguel quipped before flicking his gaze to Lucy. “So was the sex any good? I want to hear all about the status of Edric’s butt hymen.”
I choked, coughed, and coffee sputtered out of my mouth.
“There’s no shame, Edric.” He clapped my back. “No shame at all. This should be a topic of national conversation.”
Oh-kay! This is my cue to leave. “Excuse me.” I cleared my throat. “I’m gonna go change and I’ll be right back.” With that, I straight-up bolted out of there.
By the time I sauntered back into the kitchen in a fresh pair of sweatpants, Adelaide, Miguel and Lucy were getting on like a house on fire.
The three horsemen of the apocalypse, I observed grimly.
Surprisingly enough, Miguel was singing my praises. “I’ve known him for years,” he said. “Now I’m a pretty good judge of character and I can honestly say Edric is a solid dude across the board.”
“Yes,” Adelaide agreed. “He is. And you were goading him, weren’t you?”
“I was,” Lucy replied with a smile. “And enjoying it.”
“Oh, he enjoys it, too,” Miguel remarked lightly. “I can tell.”
“How?”
“He laughs more with you than with anyone else.”
“I noticed that, too,” Adelaide concurred. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Lucy.”
“You are,” Miguel enthused. “So different from the girls he usually dates. They were a trip. Stepford robots with nothing-burger personalities.”
Lucy sat forward. “Tell me more.”
“Well, his last girlfriend, Valencia, would drive around in this huge SUV and fly around in private jets, and yet she had the audacity, the audacity,” Miguel repeated, “to be mad at me for drinking with a straw. She’d turn everything little into a lecture and mini-TED talk. And get this, she called herself a life coach.”
Adelaide gave a little laugh. “I feel like she’d be a great life coach if you didn’t particularly care which direction your life was going.”
“Yes!” Miguel exclaimed. “And let me tell you, she was scary as fuck. I could never look her in the eye because I was honestly afraid she’d steal my soul.” He shuddered. “She’s like the lead character in a shitty but riveting Lifetime movie where she has an affair with your husband, poisons your child, and then kills you.”
“I see,” Lucy said slowly. “Is that why you guys set him up on FarmersOnly?”
“Yes.” Miguel nodded just as slowly. “Our intentions were pure. Edric really needed our guidance and being a good Christian and all, I was only trying to help him find a nice down-to-earth gal.”
“Like me?”
“Like you!” He smiled broadly. “You, Lucy, are a ray of sunshine and a true delight. A godsend. The answer to my prayers.”
“Why, thank you.” Lucy picked up her fork and began licking maple syrup off the sides. “You did good.”
“We did,” Miguel said in a self-congratulatory tone. “We did good and the Lord is proud.”
Even Adelaide was in a celebratory mood. “I don’t think this could’ve gone any better. We really did good.”
Yada, yada, yada they went with their rah-rah attitude.
It was a full-blown We Did Good party.
They were chatty and animated and all three of them had this rosy glow about them.
I could almost hear their inner egos cheering, Look how awesome we are!
And now Lucy was heaping on the self-praise. “Last night, Edric called me the light of his life. He’s positively enamored with me, I’m telling you. Ee-na-mored.” She said this with a full-on, radiant, ear-to-ear, light-up-the-sky smile.
“Whoa. Whoooaaaaa!” Miguel was in awe. “He called you the light of his life? That’s huge.”
“Huge,” she agreed.
“Clearly, he’s quite taken with you.” Adelaide sent her a warm smile. “What about you, Lucy?”
“Huh?” She sent back a blank stare. “What about me?”
“How do you feel about Edric?”
“Me?” Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she caught herself. “I think I’m falling for him too,” she said meaningfully. “We, err... complete us.”
I tried not to smirk as I slid onto the stool next to her. “Light of my life, you’re really laying it on thick,” I whispered, my words a breathy caress against her ear.
Lucy blushed, her cheeks flaming red, and my cock stirred, knowing I could make her flustered with just a few words.
“Of course you’d fall for me,” I said in a teasing voice. “I’d fall for me, too.”
“Shut up,” she hissed. “We need to portray a united front and be an inspirational paragon of love and devotion. So get with the program, mister. I’m playing the long game here like a savage.”
Two can play that game. “Because of this girl right here,” I announced, resting an arm on her shoulder, “I now see the light. It’s like the fog has lifted.”
“Quit leaning your full weight on my back,” Lucy grumbled. “I have scoliosis now, thanks to you.”
“See?” I sent her a wicked grin. “We already bicker like an old married couple.”
“Adelaide!” Miguel chuckled. “Look! Mom and Dad are fighting right now.”
Mom and Dad? I cringed inwardly. Great. Just fucking great.
“Don’t be silly, kids. We’re not fighting,” Lucy said in a cloyingly sweet voice. “We’re just bantering.”
“That’s what we do,” I said. “We banter.” And we did. We could chat with each other with the ease of long friendship.
“I see.” Adelaide studied us, her lips pressed together in a thoughtful line. “What have you guys talked about?”
“You know, usual stuff,” I said casually. “She’s told me all about herself and I’ve told her all about me.”
“Lucy,” Adelaide said with typical frankness. “We’d love to hear more about you, too.”
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. Is Adelaide seeing right through our charade?
She sniffs out bullshit like a K-9 police dog.
Lucy, to her credit, didn’t seem all too concerned about being put on the spot. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in my ear. “I got this.”
Three pairs of eyes were fixed tightly on her.
“Why, of course.” Lucy proceeded to pou
r herself a cup of coffee. “I’d be happy to tell you more about myself. Let’s see, I was breastfed until I was three and my mom held me a lot when I was a baby, which gave me an increased capacity for empathy. So I like to think I’m a pretty well-adjusted adult with a very strong immune system.”
“Might I add,” I interjected, “that I was a formula-fed Similac baby and I, too, have a very strong immune system. Never had the flu or earache, never been on antibiotics, so take that!”
Lucy simply ignored my outburst and took a long sip of coffee before continuing. “I met all my cognitive, emotional, and physical milestones. My parents inculcated moral traits like honesty, compassion, gratitude, and kindness in me, so you don’t have to worry. I’m not a cold-blooded killer or some sort of a psychopath in your midst.”
“Although,” I added, “certain psychopathic traits can be useful in small doses.”
“True,” she agreed. “The detachment of a surgeon, the tunnel vision of a professional athlete, the narcissism of a politician—all traits of a psychopath.”
“But,” I went on, “when these attributes exist in the wrong combination or in extreme forms, they can produce a dangerously antisocial individual or—”
“A cold-blooded murderer,” Lucy finished my sentence.
“Oh, my word.” Adelaide gasped. “You’re two people of the same mind.”
“We do seem to be cut from the very same cloth.” Lucy smiled a little to herself. “It’s quite uncanny, really.”
“Well we’re so glad we don’t have a psychopath in our midst.” Adelaide chuckled softly. “But experts have pointed to a neural abnormality in the brain, more specifically the amygdala, as a psychological culprit for coldhearted and violent behavior.”
Lucy blinked. “The amygdala, you say?”
“Correct,” she said. “It’s the amygdala that’s responsible for processing emotions and reactions to stimuli. Researchers who did brain scans of inmates at maximum-security prisons and chronicled the neural differences between average convicts and psychopaths found striking abnormalities in the amygdala. And what they concluded is that a person with an undersized amygdala might not be able to feel empathy or refrain from violence.”
The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3) Page 8
