Some Sort of Crazy (Happy Crazy Love, #2)(9)
“Normal people can be kinky, Nat. I’m telling you. You’re missing out.” His voice quieted. “And I bet there’s a part of you, deep down inside, that’s curious.” He paused, moving closer to me, his tone low and serious. “I’d like to reach that deep part of you.”
I went still, my skin prickling with heat. What the hell was going on here?
He burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face right now.”
Pressing my lips together, I focused on chopping chicken again, but my vision clouded for a moment and I nearly took off a finger. “Enough. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
To my relief, he moved away and leaned against the counter again. “I’m working. I’m writing a piece about sex in haunted places, and I remembered that old asylum up near here. I drove up yesterday and snuck in there to get some pictures last night. Then I hung out a little to see if any ghosts popped up.”
“Looking for a supernatural sexual encounter, are you?”
“Not necessarily, but that’d be awesome. I’d totally f*ck a ghost if she was hot.”
Shaking my head, I pulled a jar of homemade curried mayonnaise from the fridge and poured some over the chicken. “Sick. And ridiculous.”
“What, you don’t believe in ghosts?”
“No. But I did have a psychic reading a few days ago.” Mixing the mayonnaise and chicken with a large wooden spoon, I shook my head as I remembered our vodka-fueled Sisters Night Out. “From Madam Psuka.”
“Oh yeah?” Miles sounded interested. “What did she say?”
“A bunch of bullshit about my life being upended by a stranger. A man.”
“Maybe it’s me.” Miles sounded happy about that.
I rolled my eyes, elbowing him aside so I could get to the plastic wrap in a drawer. “It’s not you. She said it was a stranger. She said I didn’t even know his name.”
He paused. “Bet you don’t know my name.”
“What?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, perplexed. “Yes, I do. It’s Miles…” But I couldn’t think of his middle name. What the heck was it?
He shook his head. “Miles is my middle name. Do you know what my first name is?”
I gaped at him. “Wait. Miles isn’t really your name?”
“Nope. It’s Edward.” He looked smug.
“Edward?” I repeated, as if it were the most preposterous name in the universe. “I don’t believe you.”
Setting his coffee cup down, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his license. “Look.”
And there it was. His full name, address, and vital stats right next to his grinning mug. I shook my head. Who the hell smiles in their driver’s license picture?
Edward Miles Haas.
That’s who.
She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. Fuck if I didn’t wish that were true. Maybe if we were meeting for the first time, I’d say the right things or make the right moves and she’d forget all about Douchebag Dan and hang out with me tonight instead. Naked.
Not that I wanted to trade our past or anything—I loved our friendship. Natalie was like my favorite book, which is Catch 22. It’s always there on my shelf, and even if I go a year or so without reading it, every time I pick it up, I’m reminded of why I connected with it so much in the first place. It’s smart and different and always makes me laugh.
“Am I supposed to call you Edward now?” She gave me an amused smirk and went back to her chicken thing, adding spices and salt and pepper before giving it another stir.
“No. It’s my dad’s name, and I don’t really want to share anything more than DNA with him.”
She nodded, understanding. “What are your parents up to?”
“The usual, since the divorce. Dad jetting off around the globe with the new wife and Mom medicating herself so she doesn’t have to think about her life too hard, which is pretty much the same thing she did even when they were married.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Eh, I’m used to it.”
“So you’re staying at the house?”
“Yeah. My mother usually spends summers up here, but she just decided to go on some quack spiritual journey in northern California, which I think is code for ‘I’m having so much work done I’ll need several months to recover before anyone can see me.’”
Natalie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Your mom is so beautiful.”
“She doesn’t see that. She never has.” It struck me as I watched Natalie work that I could be talking about her, too. I don’t think she ever realized how beautiful she was. I don’t even think I realized it until that last summer I spent up here. But by then it was too late—she’d had a boyfriend, and I’d been dating a couple different girls, and by “dating” I mean f*cking them in the back of my car or in their basement or in a bedroom at somebody’s party whose parents were out of town. If I couldn’t have her, I might as well have fun, right?
But I had said some pretty serious stuff to her that last night before I left. Did she remember that?
Natalie shook her head. “Yeah, some women are like that, never satisfied with their appearance and panicking more and more as they get older, trying to erase every wrinkle and fill every line.” She moved briskly, covering the big bowl of chicken salad with plastic wrap and pulling out several bags of green leaf lettuce. “I hope I don’t get that way.”