Speakeasy (True North #5)(45)

“Mmm.” I stroke her hair and say nothing, because I don’t really know what that feels like. I enjoy craft beers, but I don’t need any to get through the day.

She settles a cheek against my skin and sighs. “Sorry. Long story.”

“I like hearing your stories. Does anyone else in your family struggle with alcohol?”

“No. They don’t get it. And the funny thing is that I don’t get them, either. How can they not care very much about drinking when I crave it?”

“Do you still?”

May makes a face. “I really don’t like telling you all my flaws, okay? You do a good job of pretending I’m a happy, fun person.”

“You are, though.” I skim a hand over her apple-tree tattoo. “We always have fun.”

May’s face says she doesn’t believe me.

The cat bumps something under the bed, and I startle. Then I hear a loud meow. “Jesus. I keep forgetting he’s here.”

“Is Hamish going to be okay?”

I stroke her hair again before answering. “I hope so. He has to be. He’s retiring. It’s really not fair to get so sick before you retire.” But the truth is that he looked like shit when I saw him last. “There’s been some complication from his surgery, so he’s at a nursing home. He didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t need to pry. I just visit to bring him muffins.”

“Muffins?”

“Yeah—he likes lemon poppy. And he asked me to keep Bukowski a while. He said, ‘I know how much you like pussy, Alec.’”

May laughs on my chest.

“But his own son wouldn’t take in the cat. That’s some bullshit right there.” I’m feeling sleepy now. “Are we going to drink the third one or should I pour it out?”

“I’m done.” She yawns. “You can have regular beer when I’m here, you know. I’m not going to freak out and grab it out of your hands.”

“There’s plenty of beer in my life already.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way.”

She always says that. But I’m starting to realize how much I like going out of my way for her.

My phone vibrates with a text on the bedside table. I try to ignore it, but it vibrates again. “Sorry,” I say. “I gotta check this. Smitty hasn’t been the most reliable employee lately.”

“Still? That sucks.”

It totally does. And when I check the text, I do see Smitty’s name. But there’s also a pile of messages from Chelsea.

Smitty’s text says, Chelsea is down here looking for you.

Oh, man. I had a feeling she would come around tonight. That’s why I changed the combination on the door downstairs.

She says she sees your truck in the lot but you’re not answering your texts.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I told her you weren’t feeling so great and probably went to sleep.

Thanks, I reply.

“Problem?” May asks.

“Nah, it’s cool.” I force myself to put the phone down.

“Everybody wants a piece of you,” she says.

Not for the first time I feel like May can read me pretty well. That ought to make me feel strange, but it just doesn’t. “There’s always somebody in the mood for a party, that’s all.”

“A party in your bed?” she asks, her eyebrows lifting.

“Sometimes.” But that’s all I want to say on the matter. “Selena only wants to party with you lately.” I have to make it a joke, because I think May would drop me if she thought I was getting too attached.

May snorts. “Selena. Where do I come up with this shit?”

“How is Selena, anyway? Have you talked her into bed yet? Or are you two still drinking cocoa and making eyes across the dining table.”

“Oh, she’s my bitch now,” May says, and I let out a sudden laugh. “Selena has discovered the glories of lesbian sex.”

“Really.” I move closer to her. “Tell me everything.”

May’s eyes gleam with humor as she snuggles closer to my body. “She has a boob fetish now. She’s always touching mine. And when she’s alone, she just plays with her own. You know, the way men think women must always want to do.”

I snort. “Go on.”

“She loves role play, and so I got her a nurse’s uniform.”

My stomach shakes with laughter. “How about pillow fights?” Those feature prominently in lesbian porn.

“Oh, sure. We roll around in a cloud of feathers sometimes. And we braid each other’s hair before we realize we’d rather be sixty-nining.

“So Selena has long hair? I think I’ve seen this video.” I tip the bottle up.

She elbows me. “No, silly. We braid each other’s pubic hair.”

And I almost choke on the last swallow of beer. “You are such a goof,” I say as I cough.

“Come on. Real lesbians can braid each other’s armpit hair. No—leg hair.”

“Now who’s digging the clichés? It’s not just me.” I give her a squeeze. “Now tell me your fantasy. Not mine. Where is it going with Selena?”

May sighs. “That’s the thing. I don’t know anymore.”