Dances with Monsters(99)

"We didn't—do that," she said, patting the air. "Calm down."

"What did you do?" Bunz demanded, leaning on the counter.

Drew pursed her lips. "Just—some things," she hedged. "Let's just say that he gave me a little release last night. In a very…respectful way."

"You are such a prude," Bunz complained. "I tell you about me and Anthony."

"And trust me, I want you to feel that you don't have to do that anymore," Drew replied, holding up a hand.

Bunz scoffed in annoyance and shook her head, then smiled. "Well, I'm really happy to hear you had a good time and that afterward you had….a good time." She laughed. "You deserve it."

"Thanks," Drew said. "I, uh, asked him if he would come to the trial. To be there for me."

"Oh, yeah?" Bunz lifted her eyebrows. "What did he say?"

"He said yes. Then he asked me if I would go to the tournament with him."

"And what did you say?"

"I asked for some time to think about it," Drew replied. "I felt like a hypocrite, but, there's a lot I have to take into consideration."

"Like what?" Bunz asked. "You asked him to support you, he asked for the same thing in return. What's to think about?"

"Well," Drew began. "The trips are a little different. The trial, I'll be with you guys. My family. I'll be safe. By me going with him and his family…I don't know them. I don't know him nearly as well as I know all of you, obviously. What if he turns out to not be the person I think he is? I'm by myself, I'm stranded. That's a bad situation."

"I get that," Bunz said. "I do. But ask yourself this—do you honestly feel like he's not who he says he is?"

"I want him to be who he says he is," Drew replied. "But—who the hell really knows?"

"Okay. Then ask yourself this. What made you invite him over to your apartment for dinner a couple weeks ago?"

Drew blinked, then thought about it. She shrugged. "I wanted to take a chance and put myself out there a little, I guess," she said.

"Right, but a part of you trusted him on some level," Bunz said. "You could have invited him out to dinner but you asked him to come over to your place. So while that was definitely a leap of faith on your part, you also felt some sort of comfortable way around him and trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. If he really meant you harm, he could have done whatever it was to you that night. You were alone with him in your own home with no one around to save you. But he didn't. And now, you know him even better than you did then."

"Unless it's all part of his scheme to win my trust before he goes in for the kill," Drew said wryly, surprising herself with the joke.

"Right," Bunz said sarcastically. "Basically what I'm saying is—get out of your own head. I think you should go."

"That's sort of what I was leaning toward," Drew admitted. She held up a finger. "But if he chops my head off I'm personally going to hold you accountable."

"I'll take the blame," Bunz teased back. She made a face. "You know you're gonna have to tell your parents, right? And by 'tell your parents', I mean ask them for permission."

Drew rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm twenty-seven. I don't have to ask anyone for permission." She scrubbed at the countertop and pictured her father's face in her mind and shuddered. He would not be thrilled that she was going anywhere with a guy he'd only met once, even under the best of circumstances. But with her history, he would like it even less. She knew that ultimately she would do whatever she wanted, but even at almost thirty, her father could make her feel as timid as child at times. She dropped her rag.

"I'm gonna have to ask 'em," she said.

"Yeah, you are."

The opportunity presented itself sooner than Drew had expected; her parents came in just in time for the early morning rush. Her father worked the cash register while Drew made the drinks, and her mother went into the kitchen to help Bunz labor over several large loaves of braided Italian herb bread. Two solid hours flew by before things settled down.

Her father took the opportunity of the lull to count the drawer and reset it to make an early afternoon deposit. Drew used the lull to clean the espresso machine, refill the grinder with whole beans and wash the metal milk pitcher used for steaming and the long metal spoons used for mixing the espresso with the milk and spooning on foam.

"So, how's my princess?" her father asked absently, punching numbers into a calculator and jotting down figures on a yellow notepad.

"Good, John," Drew replied. "Just spending lots of time workin' on my showcase piece for next month."