Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(23)

“Oh, how romantic. You’ve barely kissed me, and we’re already exchanging keys.”

As if. She was getting the key to his place like f*cking never.

He hoped his glare spoke volumes, but Elle didn’t seem to mind or care. She threw him an air-kiss and, smiling, opened the front door.

After dumping her stuff on the table and taking one cookie, Elle headed for the kitchen, opened the freezer, and took out a gallon of ice cream.

At f*cking two thirty.

“Midnight snack. You want?”

He shook his head. How she could be hungry when they’d eaten a feast at Rosita’s once the last diner had left, it was beyond him.

She sat on the sofa, tucked her legs under her ass, turned on the TV, and began scooping ice cream.

At f*cking two thirty.

Jack frowned. “You’re not tired?”

“Not yet.” She waved around. “I’ll give you the grand tour later, but basically what you see is what you get. You can park your things in the guest room upstairs. It used to be Jonah’s, so no fear of frilly anything.”

“You live alone?” he asked, looking around the huge Victorian house.

“Most of the time. Whenever Mom is back from Florida, she stays at Ron’s. She seems uncomfortable being here with him. She blushes.” Ron was Tate and Elle’s mother’s boyfriend. Nice quiet guy if Jack remembered correctly from James’s wedding.

What wasn’t clear to him was why Elle lived in the family home, surrounded by what must be painful memories. Then again, this was a perfectly good house. No reason to go empty forever.

“No Bowen wall of fame here?”

“Still shocked about that pic, right?” Elle asked, chuckling.

Fuck, yeah, he was.

Rosita’s was full of pictures, ranging from very old, beginning-of-the-twentieth-century shots of Italian immigrants to the US to recent ones, featuring the Bowens prominently. Jack had been standing in front of that particular photo for a long while, not sure what he was seeing. “What is that?”

Elle had walked to him and giggled. “That’s Cole’s wedding. The centerpiece of my Bowen collection. Such a pity I wasn’t there to take more shots.”

“Where the heck—”

“Las Vegas. During a Star Trek convention.”

That at least had explained the aliens. Amazing that Cole had allowed Elle to hang it. Things must have changed a lot since the last time he’d seen the oldest of the Bowens.

Jack wasn’t sure yet whether to be amused or horrified.

“The marker on James and Tate’s wedding picture; your handiwork, right?” he asked.

“How did you guess?”

Side by side with Cole’s Star Trek wedding photo from hell there had been one of James and Tate’s wedding party. Jack’s face had been covered with black marker and someone had written “top secret” near it.

“I figured you would want to protect your identity,” she continued, scooping more ice cream and then licking the spoon. As if staring at her at Rosita’s swaying her ass hadn’t been bad enough, or trying not to watch as she changed out of her airport uniform in his truck, now he had a ringside view of her gorgeous mouth playing with her food. “I guess getting new fake passports and changing names must be a drag. And cost a mint. I have a close-up the photographer took of us while dancing at the wedding reception. I personally think we look amazing, but I can’t hang a picture with half of it crossed over with marker. I’m waiting for you to be a normal civilian so that your face can be publicly revealed.”

She was making fun of him. As always. People gave him a wide berth. Grown men had trouble holding his stare and this tiny woman was laughing at him.

“Why don’t you have a man?” he blurted, suddenly irritated.

“I do have plenty of those.”

“No, you don’t. You have half-assed, no-balls, no-dicks, wet-behind-the-ears kids with barely any stubble who worship at your feet and agree with you about everything. I meant a real man looking out for you. Getting in your face when it’s needed.” Which, as far as he could see, was all the f*cking time.

“Oh, they have balls. And there’s nothing wrong with their dicks, I can assure you. Besides, I don’t need a man getting in my face.”

He begged to differ, but that conversation was a lost cause if he ever saw one.

“And that?” he asked, gesturing to the sentence on the kitchen door. Believe in the impossible, it read. He’d noticed inspirational stickers on every door he’d seen so far.

She shrugged. “Good to remember.”

For the first time the entire night, Elle seemed down. He’d been praying for her to stop blabbing and be quiet, but now that she was, it didn’t sit well with him.

“So what other moronic activities you take part in that I need to be aware of?”

Her eyes brightened. Her lips quirked up. Yeah, much better. “I keep busy. But don’t worry, we aren’t having another flash mob until the next month.”

Oh, he wasn’t worried. Much.

“You need to cancel all that shit.” No more running around for stupid flash mobs. “And get rid of those braids,” he added, pointing at her head. “I don’t like them.”

She let out a soft snort. “Let’s see what I can do. And about my schedule, I’ll keep to just the bare necessities. Swear.”