Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(78)

It took me an extended moment to try to think of what to say, which only made me sound guilty as hell.

“Oh-ho.” Jean leaned her elbows on the bed’s side bar thingy. “She does not mean the judging. Talk, drunkie. Tell all.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I’ll be back,” Myra said. “Don’t hassle her, Jean.”

Myra walked out. As soon as the door closed, Jean tapped my arm with a fingertip and wiggled her eyebrows. “Out with it. What happened with Ryder?”

“Nothing.” I held her gaze. Must have done a pretty good job at it too, because she leaned back.

“Do I need to hunt him down and break a few fingers?”

“Wow. Way to go Mafia on me. What games have you and Hogan been playing?”

“The good ones.” She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, Del. What did he do?”

“It’s…fine. He was— We were… It’s all fine. I don’t know why I even brought it up. Drugs.”

And paranoid hippy vampires.

I lifted my arm again to show her the tubes, and the pink balloon made that plinking sound.

“He tied a balloon to my pinkie.” I grinned up at it for a while.

Jean patted my arm. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Death?”

“Ryder.”

“Oh.” I frowned, thought about that, sort of prodding my heart to see if most of the pieces were still together. “He didn’t hurt me. We’re good. This is all just new. It’s going to go how it goes.”

“Yeah, totally new. You haven’t been crazy in love with him for half your life.”

“I think I’ve been in love with the idea of him.”

“Oh, bull.” She laughed. “You know him. You’ve seen him, been a part of his life. You are seriously in deep Xs and Os with the man. Not with the idea of who he is.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t feeling up to an argument. “But being in love with him, or thinking I might be, doesn’t mean I know how or what we’re doing, you know?”

“It’s called ‘dating.’ Part of the adventure is sort of figuring it out as you go.”

Something else was on my mind. Rossi’s warning. “Old Rossi—”

Her phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Whatever was there made her smile. She tapped the screen and quickly typed.

“Hogan?” I asked.

She glanced over at me. “No.”

“Liar.”

She grinned. “Maybe.”

The phone rang again. She scanned the message and texted back. “Old Rossi? I heard he was baked at the judging.”

Was he? I seemed to recall feeling like I’d gotten a contact high off him. Maybe all his warnings and doom were fueled by drugs. Jean was still texting, still smiling.

“Why don’t to take some time off from hovering over me?”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah. Myra’s going to be back with my sandwich soon, and then I’ll probably fall asleep.”

She studied my face for a minute, then bent and kissed me on my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her face was still against my forehead.

“Me too,” I whispered.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Promise.”

She petted my head as she tipped her eyes down to give me a strong look. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“No problem. I’m good for it.”

“Okay.” She planted a quick kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m going to step out for a minute. Get some coffee. I’ll be right back.”

“Say hi to Hogan for me.”

“I will.”

She left the room, and I closed my eyes in the silence that filled it. I really was a little hungry. But there was no way I was going to stay in this room overnight. I had a festival to take care of, a killer on the loose. And I wanted to have a little chat with Dan Perkin.

I was hovering on the edge of sleep when I heard the door click open. I jerked, my hand sliding to my hip where my gun should be and hitting the bar of the bed. I stared at the door, waiting for another gun pointed at me.

“Just me.” Myra had a tray in her hands. “And food.”

My heart pounded hard and fast, but I tried to wave at her. “Hey.” The pink balloon bobbed and swayed. “Just caught me almost asleep.”

She raised her eyebrows until they brushed her dark, straight bangs. “Sorry about that. How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

I smiled. “That’s what they’re calling dinner in this joint? No wonder nobody stays.”

“That’s what I asked them to make for you. Because it’s what you always ask for when you’re feeling bad.”

“With strawberry jam?”

“With strawberry jam.” She set the tray down on the rolling cart near the bed then set that up so the sandwich was easy for me to reach.

“Chocolate milk out of the carton?” I was still smiling. “I’m not six, you know.”

“Look.” She held up a straw. “It bends! Ooooh. Bendy.” She bent it, then plunked it into the little square carton of chocolate milk.