Twisted(29)

He can be really annoying about it sometimes.

“Billy!”

I throw my arms around his neck. He squeezes me tight at the waist and my feet leave the floor. My voice is muffled by his shoulder. “God, it’s good to see you!”

I know you think he’s a dick. But he’s not. Really.

You’ve only seen him through Drew-colored glasses.

Billy pulls back, his hands on my upper arms. It’s been about eight months since I saw him last. He’s toned and tan—healthy. He looks good. Except for the beard. I’m not digging the beard. It’s thick and shaggy—reminds me of a lumberjack.

“You too, Katie. You look . . .” His brow furrows. And his smile turns into a frown. “Goddamn. You look like day-old shit.”

Yep, that’s Billy. He always did know just what to say to a girl.

“Wow. With lines like that, you must be beating them off with a bat in LA. By the way—you know there’s a rat hanging off your face?”

He laughs and rubs his beard. “It’s my disguise. I need one now, you know.”

On cue, a boy who looks to be about ten approaches us hesitantly. “Can I have your autograph, Mr. Warren?”

Billy’s grin widens. And he takes the offered pen and paper. “Sure thing.” He scribbles quickly, hands the autograph back, and says, “Don’t stop dreaming, kid—they really do come true.”

After the starstruck boy walks away, Billy turns back to me, eyes sparkling. “How f*cking cool is that?”

He’s the hottest thing in music these days. His last album stayed at number one for six weeks—and there’s big Grammy buzz for this year’s awards. I’m proud of him. He’s right where I always believed he could be.

Still, I tease, “Careful. You still have to get that big head back out the door.”

He chuckles. “What are you doing here? I was supposed to come to the city to see you guys next week.”

Before I can answer, a face appears out of thin air on the other side of the glass door.

Scaring the ever-loving shit out of me. “Ah!”

It’s a light-haired woman with huge, unblinking brown eyes. Kind of like ET in the blond wig.

Billy turns. “Oh—that’s Evay.”

“Evie?”

“No, E-vay. Like eBay. She’s with me.” He opens the door and ET girl walks in, hands folded tightly at her waist. She’s wearing black leggings and a Bob Marley T-shirt. The word skinny doesn’t even come close. She reminds me of one of those skeletons in biology class, with a thin, flesh-colored coating.

She’s kind of pretty—in a concentration camp kind of way.

“Evay, this is Kate. Kate—Evay.”

In the professional world, handshakes are important. They give prospective clients a sneak peek at how you do business. They can make or break a deal. I always make sure my grip is firm—strong. Just because I’m petite and a woman doesn’t mean I’m gonna get stepped on.

“It’s nice to meet you, Evay.” I hold out my hand.

She just stares at it—like it’s a spider crawling out of the shower drain. “I don’t make direct female-to-female contact. It depletes the beautification cells.”

O-kay. I glance at Billy. He seems unperturbed. I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “So . . . do you guys want to eat? How about a booth?”

When Evay answers, her tone is airy, dazed, like a concussion victim. Or an acting coach—be the tree.

“I have my lunch right here.” She opens her palm to reveal an assortment of capsules that make my prenatals look like baby candy. “But I need water. Do you have clear water from a snowy mountain spring?”

Wow.

Somebody call Will Smith—aliens really have landed.

“Uh . . . we don’t get much snow around here, this time of year. We have Greenville’s finest tap water, though.”

She shakes her head. And she still hasn’t blinked. Not one freaking time.

“I only drink snowy mountain spring water.”

Billy raises his hand. “I’m jonesin’ for some onion rings.”

I smile and put in his order. “Sure.”

Evay sniffs the air, like a squirrel before a storm. Then she looks a little petrified. “Is that grease? Do you cook with actual grease?”

I take a step back. She might be one of those wacked-out, PETA-loving vegan people who are offended by animal byproducts—and the prospect of being doused with red paint isn’t too appealing at the moment.

“Ah . . . yes?”

She covers her nose with bony fingers. “I can’t breathe this air! I’ll break out!” She turns to the door.

And waits.

Guess females aren’t the only thing she doesn’t make contact with.

Billy opens it for her and she scurries out. I look at him, flabbergasted. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

“That was a Californian. They’re all like that. I think it’s from too much sun . . . and weed. They make Dee Dee look f*cking mundane. Plus Evay’s a model, so she’s an extra-large kind of weird. She won’t smell grease, but she smokes like a chimney.”

That’s why I’m happy I live in New York.

Where the normal people are.

Well . . . lived, anyway.