Shimmy Bang Sparkle(20)

Purely out of curiosity, I put one hand on the bottom of the bag. The whole base was rigid, and something came up the sides all around it. Reminded me of a Tupperware container my grandma had.

I felt along the ridge and the corners. I tapped it on the sides. There was something solid in there, not plastic. Metal maybe. Like a metal box, hidden in the bottom of her purse. My best guess, given what I’d seen today, was some type of portable safe.

I had to know more about her. I fucking had to.

I slid my hand inside her purse, all the while keeping an eye on the bedroom to make sure she was still asleep. At the base of the bag, I felt something metal. It didn’t feel like a portable safe, though; no matte powder coat, no sharp edges. It felt smooth, and like there was some sort of decoration on top. The problem was, in order to see it, I was going to have to dump all the shit out of her bag. And that was a serious proposition, likely to cause one hell of a racket. But as long as I had her purse open, I might as well figure out a thing or two while I was there.

Carefully, I removed her wallet from the side pocket of the bag. It was nothing fancy, brown leather with little flowers and a snap closure on top. As gently as I could, I snapped it open. There, in the front ID window, was her driver’s license. I knew for sure it wasn’t a fake, because fuck knew I’d had some experience with fake New Mexico IDs. This one was real, and her beautiful face smiled back at me. Stella Peretti, thirty-four. It gave her address, which I placed as being right near where the old guy she’d been helping lived. Using the light of the microwave, I snooped a little further. Credit cards, a library card. Totally upstanding and normal. A punch card for a frozen yogurt place on Central, the hole punches in the shape of ice cream cones. She had eight out of ten punched, and on the back she’d written, Note to self: Thumbs-down on the watermelon sorbet. Yuck.

I shoved the card back into its slot. What the fuck was I doing? No matter if she was a thief, she was also a woman with a private life, and I was prying into it without her permission. Riffling through her wallet after I’d spent a perfect night with her? That was the old me. And I was fucking sick of that dude.

So I put her wallet back in her bag, left it where I’d run into it on the kitchen floor, and headed back to bed. I got in beside her, pulling her body into mine. I nestled my face against hers and closed my eyes. Bad news or not, I wanted her. That was a fact. Tomorrow, I’d new-me the fuck out of this situation and straight-up ask her about her deal.



Except I didn’t get the goddamned chance, because the next thing I knew I was standing at the window in the blinding morning light, watching her get into a car that had an Uber sign taped inside the back window. No way, I thought. No way. I threw open my bedroom window, stuck two fingers in my mouth, and whistled to her. “Where the hell are you going, gorgeous?”

She spun around, her hair in a high ponytail, the dark-brown curls catching the light. “Hi! I’ve got stuff to do! It’s eleven in the morning!”

Eleven. Jesus. I realized I actually felt pretty hungover. But it wasn’t three beers and a glass of wine making me feel rough around the edges. I’d been all over her all night long; probably hadn’t slept more than fifteen minutes at a time. That was a Stella hangover I was feeling. Nah, fuck that. Stella withdrawal.

“C’mon. There’s an IHOP down the street. They’ll make you caramel apple pancakes.” I adjusted my balls in my boxers, and her eyes followed my hand past the windowsill. Her eyes definitely widened. Hell yeah. “I’ll make sure they give you extra whipped cream.”

She hoisted the world’s heaviest purse over her shoulder like it didn’t weigh anything at all. “Tempting!”

“I’ll show you tempting,” I said with a lift of my chin.

She shifted her lips off to the side, like she really was thinking about it. For about two seconds, I felt like I had her. I had visions of running my hand up her thigh underneath a full IHOP spread. But then she said, “Nope. I gotta jet. Thank you for a great night!”

Holy shit. What was going on here? Was she actually, really and truly, leaving? After the night we had?

I rubbed my face with my hand hard enough to know that I wasn’t, in fact, having a truly shitty dream at all. First, I chased her all around town. Now she was leaving me the morning after? Either I had seriously lost my edge, or I really had finally met my match. “At least tell me you left your number,” I called down to her.

She shielded her eyes with her hand. “I give that to the same number of people who buy me diamonds.”

I remembered what she’d said yesterday. “Nobody,” I called back at her.

She gave me an exaggerated wink and a big nod.

Goddamn it, if last night had told me anything, it was that we’d never be nobody to one another again. So it was time to up the ante. “I’ll drive you to up to Santa Fe. I’ll take you to India House on Cerrillos,” I said, to sweeten the deal. Or spice it up. Or whatever. “You think last night’s tikka was good? Just you wait.”

Her adorable smile glistened in the sunshine, but then she shook her head, making her long ponytail swing across her back. She hopped in the car, and I had to brace myself on the window frame.

A second later, she rolled down her window, looked up at me, and beamed. “Just teasing, lover! Go look in your bathroom! I always wanted to do that!” she called out as the Uber drove off.