“Hey,” she says, giving them a small, embarrassed smile. “I didn’t really have anything to wear.”
Carrie shoots me a look of hate before turning to Diem and smiling. “You look fine.” She walks in and I finally turn to Rookie, who’s giving me the same disgusted look.
“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” During my fit of rage, I’d called to tell him about her latest stunt. He just laughed and called her spoiled. But seeing her like this, I guess he felt differently. He walks past me, following Carrie inside. What the fuck just happened? He was my brother. It was in the bylaws that he was supposed to have my back—always. Right or wrong.
Diem is standing in the doorway, holding open the screen for our guests. At the pitiful sight of her, I decide that my company can wait. First I’m going shoe shopping. But when she looks over at me, an evil smile spreads across her face. In that moment, I realize Rookie, Carrie, and I had been played. She had shit to wear; she was just doing this to get back at me. Before shutting the door, she gives me the finger and mouths, “I always win.”
And dammit if the bitch don’t.
* * *
“She’s good,” Rookie says, clearly amused at my situation with Diem. We’re grilling outside while the girls are inside, probably deciding how to kill me.
“No, she’s fucking evil. I’m telling you she’s going to be the death of me.” I grab a beer, passing one to him before getting my own.
“Then take her back home,” Rookie suggests with a shrug. “She’s better now. Looks like she can take care of herself.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. If I do that, it’s like she wins.”
“Bullshit. You’re just making excuses because you want her here. Admit it.”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t want her here.” The finality in my tone only makes him smirk.
“I’m not judging, I’m just saying that if she really gets under your skin that much, let her go. There are plenty of whores around these parts. You don’t need her.” I remain silent, and can almost see the lightbulb when it goes off in his head. “Holy shit . . . you haven’t fucked her.” He looks at me in disbelief and I light a cigarette, avoiding his eyes. “You’re falling for this broad.”
“No I’m not,” I say defensively. “She’s practically fucking handicapped. I may be coldhearted, but I ain’t that big of an asshole.”
“Yeah, but you ain’t no saint either.”
“Did you come over here to play Oprah, or can we actually try and get some work done?” I snap, ready to get off this topic and onto anything else other than mine and Diem’s fucked-up . . . whatever the hell this is.
“Whatever you say, boss,” he says, wearing that shit-eating grin that makes me sick.
“Good. Now how the hell are we gonna pull this off? I don’t want a repeat of last time.”
“We’ll just have to target them at church. Prospects aren’t invited in.”
“But they’re still around,” I say, cutting him off.
He thinks a minute. “Then maybe we need to start targeting them from the inside.”
“You mean during church?”
He shrugs. “Why not? Maybe they went in and never came out.” My wheels start spinning immediately. This could be done.
“Rookie, you’re a fucking genius.”
Taking the cigarette from between my fingers, he nods. “I know.”
* * *
We’re seated around the table, and I can’t avoid the glares Carrie keeps giving me. I look to Rookie for help and he shrugs, but gives Carrie a look that tells her to chill the fuck out.
“This chicken is great,” Diem announces, and everyone mumbles in agreement.
“What did you cook, Diem?” I ask, making sure not to taste the potato salad or the baked beans until I know for sure she didn’t cook them.
Carrie gives me a warning look before smiling and glancing over at Diem. “The potato salad, and I’m sure it’s delicious.” Shoveling a heaping spoonful in her mouth, she pauses, fighting the urge to vomit before forcing it down.
“I’m sure it is,” I say, smiling. Moving it over to the other side of my plate, I make sure not to touch it.
Rookie covers his mouth to hide his smile, and I feel the table move when Carrie kicks him. “Diem,” she says, looking over at the oblivious woman who is somehow managing to eat the rancid potato salad. I’m sure it’s just to prove a point. “How much longer you plan on staying?”
“You know,” Diem says, wiping her mouth before placing her napkin in her lap. “I was thinking that since Zeke and I are both single, that maybe we should just move in together and share rent.”