Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(48)

We leave the store, and Christy takes over pushing. Violet starts to stir, and I peep in at her. “Hi, sugar plum,” I say. She rewards me with a smile and a yawn, her cheeks rosy. “Who’s your auntie, hmm? Can you say hi to Auntie Mags?”

“Ah-nu,” she says cheerfully.

“I think that was hello,” I tell my sister.

She grins. “So what’s going on with you and Malone?”

“Nothing,” I tell her. “We’re not really…I don’t know. Nothing. Just a fling. It’s over.”

“Really?” She looks disappointed. “He doesn’t seem like the type for a fling.”

“Ask him. There he is.” I feign nonchalance as Malone comes out of the liquor store, a six-pack under his arm. He lurches to a stop at the sight of us.

“Hi, Malone,” Christy calls out pleasantly.

“Hi,” I echo.

“Hey, Christy,” he says. His eyes flick to mine. “Maggie.”

It’s almost strange to see him during daylight hours. He has the looks for a vampire, that dark hair and grim face. He’s wearing a black wool coat and faded black jeans, rubber-soled boots. But the lines around his face are less harsh, and the wind ruffles his hair teasingly. He bends down for a look at Violet. “Hey, there,” he says to her.

Violet stuffs a corner of her blanket in her mouth and chews, staring at him solemnly. The lines around Malone’s eyes deepen. I look away, embarrassed by the softening of my wicked heart. “Sweet baby,” he tells Christy.

“Thank you,” she smiles.

“Good to see you, Maggie,” Malone says. He turns and walks away from us.

When he’s a safe distance, Christy hisses, “See? He still likes you.”

“Jeezum. You sound so eighth grade.”

“Well?” she huffs indignantly.

“Well, nothing, Christy. He said a handful of words and left. Where you come up with your theories is beyond me. We haven’t spoken since we slept together. Well, hardly.”

“Mmm-hmm. But I can just tell.” She looks at me. “It’s true. I can.”

“Okay, Great Swami. Thanks for the input.” I smile and pat her arm. How patient I am today! First with Mom, now with my sister. Clearly I deserve some Ben & Jerry’s tonight while I watch the Sox game. Perhaps the entire pint.

“Do you like him, Mags?” my sister says, irritating as a greenhead at the beach. My patience evaporates.

“I like him in bed, Christy. Okay? In bed, he’s awesome. Otherwise, we barely speak. So. Any other questions? Would you like to know if he has any identifying marks or deviant tendencies?” I realize I’m barking.

Christy shoots me a grin. “Well, actually…”

“A tattoo. On his arm. A Celtic band, right around his bicep.”

“I’m more interested in the deviant tendencies.” She widens her eyes expectantly, and I can’t help laughing.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IT TURNS OUT she’s a little bit right.

That night, I’m at home as usual, already dressed in my pjs at eight-thirty, a huge basket of laundry on my coffee table. Ever since my Skip days, I’ve been a baseball fan, and, because it’s a Maine state law, I am a devotee of the Boston Red Sox. I watch with smug satisfaction as the designated hitter clips a double into right field, then decide I deserve that Ben & Jerry’s. While I rummage in the freezer, there’s a knock on my door.

“Sissy, it’s me, your favorite brother,” Jonah calls.

“Dmitri?” I call.

“Wicked funny,” he says.

“Come on in,” I say.

“TV’s out at the firehouse. Can we watch the Sox game with you?”

“Sure. It’s already on.” The freezer is crammed with foil-wrapped leftovers from the diner and I can’t find the damn ice cream. Shoot. “Um, who’s we?”

Jonah sticks his head in the kitchen door. “Just me and Stevie. Malone, too.”

I jerk my head out of the freezer. “Malone?”

“Ayuh,” Jonah says, turning his head to see the TV. “Saw him at the dock, asked him if he wanted to come.” He seems unaware of the import of his actions, but then again, Jonah is unaware of much in life. He blinks owlishly at me.

“Right, Malone,” I say. “Okay. Sure. Yeah. That’s fine.”

A sudden image of my laundry causes me to lunge into the living room. I’m too late. Underwear of varying ages litters the coffee table. “You need some new stuff, Mags,” Stevie says, snatching up a pair of once-white panties.

I reach for them, feeling my face go nuclear-hot. “Out on parole, I see, Stevie.”

“Maybe some thongs. I like a woman in a thong,” he says.

“Not that you’ve ever seen one,” I say, snatching the panties back. I stuff them, along with my faded bras and T-shirts, deep into the laundry basket. “Hi, Malone,” I say, hoping my voice sounds casual.

“Maggie,” Malone says.

He makes the boys look like just that—boys. He’s not smiling exactly, but he’s not glaring, either, and he doesn’t look away. It seems very small in my apartment; of course, it is a very small apartment, and three full-grown males make it microscopic.