Well Suited (Red Lipstick Coalition #4)(23)

My only luxuries were my suits. Gorgeous custom suits, closets of suits, a sea of black and white and gray. My affinity for well-tailored suits could be traced back to my teens. We’d been running wild in the neighborhood—one of the guys we ran with had the big idea to vandalize all the bus stop ads, which, at the time, primarily featured Paris Hilton in a bikini with a hamburger the size of her head in her pretty little hand.

But then we came to a stop devoid of bikinis or hip bones or the come-hither stares of a hotel heiress.

It was an ad for TAG Heuer smack in the middle of Mount Eden, which on its own should have had an ad exec fired—nobody in fifty blocks could afford a TAG. But there he was, some good-looking guy in a suit that made him look like somebody. Somebody in a place full of working-class nobodies. He had dark hair like me, dark eyes like mine, his jaw set in determination, like he was about to make a million-dollar deal. The dim shade of my form reflected off the scratched-up, foggy plastic casing, superimposing me onto him.

And that was when I’d known. Someday, I’d own a suit like that. Someday, I’d be somebody.

I’d kept that promise to myself along with all the rest of them. Once I decided to do something, I did it. Once I declared I’d go after something, I got it.

It was a knack of mine.

I stuffed the lone check in an envelope and hastily addressed it, leaving his first name off—less questions if, for some reason, it was returned. And when it was done, I slipped it into my inside coat pocket and headed downstairs.

Ma was in the kitchen, shuffling around the island with a plate in her hand. I frowned at her.

“I was just coming to get you lunch,” I said, taking the plate.

“I figured, but I don’t mind doin’ it myself.”

“Well, I do. Come on. Come sit down.”

She sighed but let me take her arm and deposit her on a barstool at the island. “How’s your day, honey?”

“Fine,” I answered noncommittally as I pulled containers out of the fridge with prepped food. “What have you been doin’?” The Bronx slipped, as it sometimes did around her.

“Readin’ a book Amelia gave me. It’s about a girl who time travels to Ireland during the rebellion. I think I’ve cried through half of it.”

I shook my head. “That’s why I read nonfiction. Last thing I need is for a book to make me cry.”

At that, she laughed. “Please, when have you ever cried? I’m not convinced you have working tear ducts.”

I chuckled, plating her food and turning for the microwave.

“I mean it. Even Tommy cried when he broke his arm that time at the basketball court.”

“Ah, the great trashcan escape of ’02,” I said with a smile and a shake of my head.

“Couldn’t blame him for crying. I almost fainted at the sight of his arm bent in the wrong direction. But you? You dislocated your shoulder riding your bike through that drainage tunnel and didn’t shed a tear. Never seen anything like it.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t hurt that bad.”

She made a derisive noise. “That’s a bald-faced lie, and you know it.”

“Didn’t hurt bad enough to cry.”

She sighed again, smirking as she changed the subject. “How’s Katherine feeling?”

“Seems to be okay. I’m meeting her for lunch tomorrow.”

At that, she smiled, a wily expression that sparked a glint in her eye. “Oh?”

“Trust me, it’s not that glamorous.”

“Oh,” she said as her face fell. “Still not interested?”

Now it was my turn to sigh. “I told her I’d follow her rules, so I will. I’ll respect the hell outta her boundaries. I’ll respect them so good, she’ll be wishing I disrespected them.”

A laugh. “I hope she comes around.”

“Me too.”

“Think you’ll end up together?”

“If I have anything to do with it, I sure do. It’d be different if she refused me because she didn’t want me. But she does. I can feel it. She almost kissed me at the doc’s office. But that’s just the thing. We’re like magnets trying to get at each other through a sheet of plastic—not enough to stop the pull, but just enough to keep us apart.”

“Think you’ll get married?”

I snorted a laugh. “I’d settle for a kiss. Anything past that…well, I don’t even want to think about it until that door opens up. It’s currently locked tight.”

“Dead-bolt tight?”

“Nah, but she’s left the chain on.”

She smiled. “She’s strict, huh?”

“Rules make her feel safe. She likes control, and she’s in the middle of something she’s got no control over. Throw me in the mix?” I shrugged a shoulder. “Anyway, I have an unending well of patience.” I watched her for a second. “What’d you bring up marriage for?”

“Oh, I dunno. Nothin’ more than that I know you, and the fact that she’s carrying your baby probably makes you feel a certain…obligation.”

I frowned as the microwave beeped. “That’s not why I want her, Ma.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I gave her a look and handed her the plate.