One is a Promise(16)

“Jesus hates you.” Angel blinks, expressionless.

“Did he tell you this himself?”

“This is God’s house.”

“Actually, it’s my house, and I work hard for the money that pays for it.”

“It’s God’s money.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

She turns toward the door and bends at the waist. “Toot this.” A farting noise sprays from her mouth, and she races from the room.

Birth control. That’s what this is. If my bighearted, grade-school-teaching sister can give birth to the spawn of the devil, God knows what I would produce. Call me selfish, but I’m not even tempted to find out. I have a ten-year IUD to make sure of it.

Of course, I need to have sex to get pregnant in the first place.

Still wearing the booty shorts from last night, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and follow the aroma of sizzling grease into the kitchen.

“You look like ass.” Bree smiles and shoves a mug of coffee at me.

“Thank you.” I sip the creamy beverage and sigh. “For the coffee, not the comment.”

“Eggs are almost done.” She turns back to the stove.

She’s not here to cook me breakfast. She wants the scoop on the date, and I’m surprised she hasn’t asked yet.

Dressed in her usual gear—baggy gym shorts, tank top, hair in a high ponytail, complete with an elastic headband—she takes her role as a soccer coach’s wife seriously. Eighteen months younger than me, she shares my height, build, facial features…everything. Only she’s darker. Darker complexion—fake bake. Darker hair—L’Oreal No.5. If she embraced her naturally pale skin and blonde hair, we’d pass as twins.

“You didn’t get the D last night.” Gray eyes—same as mine—squint at me over her shoulder.

I had two chances to get laid. Final score 0-2. Man, I suck. But she only knows about the one.

“You don’t know what happened.” I finish off the coffee with a couple of aspirin.

“You woke alone and grumpy.” She prepares two plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. “I know what didn’t happen.”

“I’m always grumpy before coffee.”

“Not if you got the D,” she sings and casts a glance at Angel, who glowers from a shadowed corner in the hallway.

“I wasn’t impressed with the guy you picked.” I might’ve jumped on the other D, if he weren’t such a… Well, a dick.

“Eat.” She slides a full plate in front of me. “And tell me what happened.”

“Mm.” I grab a fork and shovel in a fluffy scrambled bite of eggs. “Another guy happened.”

She chokes around a mouthful of bacon. “Anuffer guy?”

I hop onto the counter and gesture at the watchful silhouette in the hall. “You gonna feed the little person?”

“Angel already ate.” Bree wipes a paper napkin across her mouth. “What other guy?”

I launch into the story, starting with Mark’s arrival, his groping, and Marlo Vogt’s appearance. As I reach the part about the casino owner trespassing in my house, a noise from the hallway distracts me.

Angel sits with her back against wall and hugs her knees to her chest. With her head tilted down, she stares up at me, whispering something under her breath.

I try to ignore her. “Trace Savoy bought Bissara and offered me a job with a pay raise.”

As I explain the terms of the contract, Angel’s indiscernible muttering grows louder.

“Jesus.” I set my plate aside. “She’s really distracting.”

“She’s practicing her alphabet.” Bree smiles at her daughter. “Aren’t you, sweetie?”

“Mm-hmm,” Angel says without moving her judgmental gaze from me.

The whispers begin again. I strain my hearing and don’t detect a single recognizable syllable.

“It sounds like Latin.” Not really, but I love to give Bree shit about Angel’s disturbing personality. “Are you sure she’s not knee-deep in demonic possession?”

“Stop with the demon references, Danni. I’m not okay with it.” Bree puts her plate in the sink a little too roughly. “You’re giving her a complex.”

Can a sociopath get a complex?

“Anyway…” I finish walking through the events of the prior night and end on a sigh. “Trace left with that stupid scowl on his face.

Bree blows out a breath, her expression pinching. “Sounds like Cole.”

“Cole never scowled.”

“Except when his temper flared, which was all the time. And he was always on you about locking the door.”

“What’s your point?” I slide off the counter and pour another cup of coffee.