Tangled

And then the smile slides off my face as I stare at Erin’s back. She’s standing in front of my office with her arms out. Blocking it. From the woman in front of her.

Who just happens to be Delores Warren.





After Erin escorts Sister B to Kate’s office, I turn toward Delores. She’s wearing a black bustier, tight leather pants, and red stiletto heels. If this is what she wears to work, I can’t fucking imagine what she wears in the bedroom. Must be interesting.

Steven walks up to us, his eyes on the retreating forms down the hallway.

“Was that Sister Beatrice?”

“Yep.”

He nods appreciatively. “Nice.”

See? NILF. Told you.

He smiles evilly at Delores. “Hey, Dee, did Matthew tell you about Sister B?”

“Kind of. He introduced us at church last week.”

Unlike me, Matthew still attends church regularly. He likes to keep his bases covered, just in case.

Steven smiles wider. Like a toddler who’s about to tattle on a sibling.

“Did he tell you about CPS?”

Her brow wrinkles. “What’s CPS?”

“Ask Matthew. He’ll tell you. He’s kind of an expert on it.” He nudges me with an elbow. “Alexandra and Mackenzie are coming by later. You want to join us for lunch?”

I scratch behind my ear. “Can’t. I’ve got a meeting…with a guy…about a thing.”

He’s a skywriter. He’s supposed to fly over the building at four. I just need to work out what he’s going to write. But I don’t want Delores to know. Can’t have her warning Kate ahead of time.

Steven nods. “All right. Later.”

I look Delores in the eyes. And flash her one of my classic smiles.

She just glares back.

I must be losing my touch.

“We need to talk.”

There are only a few reasons why Delores Warren would want to talk to me at this point in my life. None of them are pleasant.

I motion toward my office. “Come on in.”

This is how it must feel to invite a vampire into your house.

I sit down behind my desk. She stands.

You ever watch Animal Planet? Women are kind of like a herd of elephants. They stick together for protection. And if one senses danger? They all stampede.

I need to play this carefully.

“What can I do for you, Delores?”

“Self-castration would be great. But I’ll settle for a flying leap off a bridge. I hear the Brooklyn is nice this time of year.”

Oh yeah—this is going to be fun.

“Besides that.”

She braces her hands on my desk and leans over, like a snake getting ready to strike. “You can stop fucking with my best friend’s head.”

Not a problem. Kate’s head isn’t the body part I’m looking to fuck at the moment. Think I should tell her that? Probably not.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about last week, when you treated her like a used condom. And now, all of a sudden, you’re all flowers and music and love notes.”

Heard about those, did she? That’s a good sign.

“So I’m thinking you’re either a split personality—caused by the raging syphilis coursing through your bloodstream—or you’ve got an itch for a good challenge. In either case, move along, jerk-off. Kate isn’t interested.”

I’m not into challenges. When Kate blew me off that first night at REM, did I chase her? No, I went with the sure thing. The easy out.

Or in that particular case—the double play.

“Let’s not bullshit each other here. We both know Kate is very interested. You wouldn’t be so eager to rip into me if she wasn’t. As for the rest of your concerns, I don’t do head games. And there’s a line of women around the block willing to scratch any itch I can think of. This isn’t about getting laid.”

I lean forward on my desk. And my tone is straightforward and persuasive, like she’s a client on the fence. One I need to sway to my side. “I’ll admit, my feelings for Kate caught me off guard and at first, I handled things badly. That’s why I’m doing all this—to show her that I care about her.”

“You care about your dick.”

Can’t really argue with that.

She sits down across from me. “Kate and I are like sisters. Closer even. She’s not a one-night-stand kind of girl—she never was. She’s a relationship kind. It’s very important to me that she’s with someone who treats her right. A man.”

Couldn’t agree more. Most guys would sacrifice a limb for some juicy girl-on-girl action. It’s a turn-on—big time. But when it comes to Kate? I don’t plan on sharing. With either sex.

“Last time I checked, that’s what I was.”

“No. You’re a dog. She needs a good man. A nice man.”

Good guys are boring. You need a little bad to keep things fun. And nice guys? Nice guys have something to hide.

Jeffrey Dahmer’s neighbors thought he was a nice guy. Until they found those heads in his freezer.

She crosses her arms, and her voice turns triumphant. Gloating. “And I know someone who’s perfect for her. He works in my lab. He’s smart. He’s funny. His name is Bert.”

Bert?

Is she fucking kidding me? What kind of sick son of a bitch names his kid Bert in this day and age? That’s just cruel.

“He’ll show Kate a good time. I plan on setting them up this weekend.”

And I plan on handcuffing myself to Kate’s ankle and eating the key. Let’s see what kind of good time Bert can show Kate when she’s dragging me around behind her like a Siamese twin.

“I have a better idea. How about we double. You and Matthew, me and Kate. We’ll hang out. It’ll give me the chance to show you how perfect Kate and I are for each other.”

“Okay, now you sound like a stalker. You had your chance, you fucked up, get over it. Pick some other number out of your little black book and leave Kate alone.”

I stand up. “Contrary to what you think you know, I’m not some serial scumbag. I don’t lead women on—I don’t need to. You want me to tell Kate I’m sorry? I have. You want a guarantee that I’ll never hurt her again? I can write you one, and I’ll sign it in blood if it makes you happy. But don’t ask me to leave her alone, because I won’t. I can’t.”

She doesn’t move. Her face is as still and hard as a pissed-off statue. And my argument is making about as much of a dent as a goddamn toothpick.

“Did Matthew tell you what I was like? Do I look like the type of guy who goes catatonic over just any woman? God, Delores, I fucking worship her.”

She snorts. “Today. You worship her today. But what happens if she gives in? When the novelty wears off and the sex gets old? And some new bitch in heat crosses your path and wants you to sniff her ass?”

Sex doesn’t get old. Not if you’re doing it right.

“I don’t want anyone else. And I don’t see that changing any time…ever.”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

“I’m sure you do. If you dicked Matthew around the way I did with Kate, I’d pretty much write you off too. But what you think doesn’t change what Kate wants. And deep down, even if she won’t admit it yet, that’s me, sweetheart.”

“Could you be any more full of yourself? You may have money, but it can’t buy you class. Or integrity. You’re not even close to good enough for Kate.”

“But you think your cousin is?”

“No, I don’t. Billy’s an immature jackass, and that relationship was going nowhere fast for a long time. Over the years I tried to tell her. To make her see that she and their relationship had become more about friendship than real love. But by then our lives, our families, were so intertwined, I think they were both afraid of rocking the boat and losing more than just each other. But he did—does love her. I’m sure of that. He’s just always loved his guitar more.”

She starts to pace in front on my desk. Like a professor in a lecture hall.

“See, Drew, there are three kinds of males in this world: boys, guys, and men. Boys—like Billy—never grow up, never get serious. They only care about themselves, their music, their cars. Guys—like you—are all about numbers and variety. Like an assembly line, it’s just one one-night stand after another. Then there are men—like Matthew. They’re not perfect, but they appreciate women for more than their flexibility and mouth suction.”

She’s not wrong. You should listen to her.

The only part she doesn’t get, though, is that sometimes a guy can’t become a man until he’s met the right woman.

“You can’t make that call. You barely know me.”

“Oh, I know you. Believe me. I was conceived by a guy just like you.”

Crap. Daddy issues. They’re the worst.

“Kate and I look out for each other,” she goes on. “We always have. And I’m not going to let her be another notch on your STD-coated bedpost.”

You ever bang your head against a wall?

No?

Watch closely. This is what it looks like.

“She’s not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! What fucking language would you like to hear it in?”

“I don’t know. Do you speak anything besides Asshole?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel an aneurism coming on.

“Okay, look—you don’t trust me? Fine. Talk to Matthew. You trust him, right? He wouldn’t want me screwing around with his girlfriend’s best friend if I wasn’t playing for keeps.”

She waves her hand in the air. “That doesn’t prove anything. Penises stick together.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I scrub my hand down my face. Then I take a deep, calming breath. Time to lay it on the line. Put my cards on the table. Throw the Hail Mary pass.

I walk to the window, gathering my thoughts as I watch the traffic far below. I’m still looking at it as I tell her, “You know what I saw yesterday when I was coming to work? I saw a pregnant woman, getting a cab…”

I used to think pregnant women were kind of grotesque. Deformed. You should have seen Alexandra. When she was knocked up with Mackenzie, she looked like she’d eaten Humpty Dumpty for breakfast. And the way she was chowing down at the time, she totally could have.

“…and all I could think about was how adorable Kate would look pregnant. And about how I wanted to do things for her. Like…if she gets sick, I want to be the guy making her tea and bringing her tissues. I want to know how she got that small scar on her chin and if she’s afraid of spiders…and what she dreams about at night. Everything. It’s fucking insane—don’t think I don’t know that. It’s never happened to me before. And I don’t want it to ever happen again—with anybody else. Just Kate.”

I turn my head from the window and look her in the eyes.

If you’re ever in the woods and come face to face with a pissed-off momma bear, it’s always better to look her in the eyes. Run away? She’ll feed you to the cubs. One arm at a time. But if you stand your ground, you just might make it out alive.

“You want to hear that Kate has me whipped? ’Cause she does. She’s got me on my knees and under her thumb, and I don’t want to get out.”

We’re both quiet after that. Delores just stares at me. For a while. Searching my face for…something. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I know the moment she finds it. Because something shifts in her eyes. They become softer. Just a little. And her shoulders relax. And then she nods.

“Okay, then.”

Some battles don’t have a winner. Sometimes the best a good general can hope for is a ceasefire.

“Kate makes her own choices,” she says. “And if those choices turn out to be rotten, then I’ll help her clean up the mess. Because that’s what best friends do—help bury the body.”

She stands up. Walks a few steps to the door. Then she stops, and spins around with her finger pointing in my direction.

“You just remember one thing, buddy. I don’t care if it’s ten days down the road or ten years, I’ll be watching you. And if I ever find out that you’ve fucked her over? I’ll make you sorry. And I work in a lab, Drew. With chemicals. Odorless, tasteless chemicals that can permanently shrink your nuts so small, you’ll have to start calling yourself Drewsilla. Are we clear?”

Matthew is out of his fucking mind. Delores Warren is scary. Definite psycho-bitch potential. She and Alexandra should totally hang out.

And she’s put way too much thought into that little plan for my liking.

I swallow hard. “Crystal.”

She nods again. “Glad we understand each other.”

And with that, she breezes out of my office. And I collapse back into my chair and stare at the ceiling.

Christ.

This relationship shit is exhausting. I feel like I just ran a marathon. With hurdles.

But you know what? I’m pretty sure the finish line’s in sight.





Chapter 24

AFTER DELORES LEAVES, I pick up my briefcase and head out the door. To my meeting with the skywriter. I still have to figure out how to get Kate on the roof. Speaking of Kate…

Want to swing by her office on the way out? See how her and the good Sister are getting along?

Her door’s open. I brace my hands on the frame and lean in. Can you see her through the balloons? Sitting at her desk, with her hands folded on top—a smile stuck on her face as she nods obediently to whatever Sister Beatrice is saying.

“Ladies. How are we doing this afternoon?”

Kate turns to me. And her voice is strained. “Drew. There you are. I was just thinking about you”—from the way she’s gripping her hands together, it looks like she was thinking about strangling me—“while Sister Beatrice here was telling me the fascinating tale of glass houses. And how those of us who live in them shouldn’t throw stones.”

She’s still smiling. But her eyes say something else entirely.

It’s a little creepy.

You know in Texas Chainsaw Massacre when the old man smiles just before he slits the girl’s throat? Yeah—it’s kind of like that.

Sister Beatrice looks at the ceiling. “We are all imperfect in the eyes of the Lord. Katherine, may I use yer facilities, dear? Nature is calling.”

“Of course, Sister.” They stand, and Kate opens the door to her adjoining washroom.

And as soon as that door closes, Smiley Kate goes bye-bye. Mad Kate takes her place. She marches toward me.

And the balloons run for their lives.

“I’m going to ask you this one time, and if you lie to me, I swear I’ll let Delores poison you.”

“Okay.”

“Is she a real nun? Or some actress you hired?”

I laugh. I didn’t even think of that. “No, she’s real.”

Kate is not pleased. “God, Drew! A nun? A fucking nun? This is low. Even for you.”

“I think she’s technically a Mother Superior now.”

I lean in closer to Kate because…well, just because I can…and the smell of her lotion hits me. Hard. I resist the urge to put my nose against her skin and sniff like a cocaine addict.

“Is there any level you won’t sink to to get your way?”

Nope. Sorry. Not a one. I don’t mind getting down and dirty.

Actually, I prefer it that way.

“Desperate times…I had to call out the big guns.”

“You want to see guns? As soon as the Flying Nun leaves my office, I’ll show you guns! I can’t believe—”

God, she’s beautiful. I mean, look at her. She’s like a volcano going off—fierce and fiery and breathtaking. If she doesn’t find a way to ugly herself down, I’m going to be spending an awful lot of time pissing her off.

Which might not be such a bad thing in the end. Angry sex is awesome.

I cut off Kate’s rant. “As titillating as this conversation has been—and believe me, it’s been very—I have a meeting to get to.”

Before I go, I motion toward her bare neck. “Hey, why aren’t you wearing your necklace?”

She folds her arms and smiles proudly. “I donated it to Sister Beatrice. For the less fortunate.”

Played that one well, didn’t she?

I can play too.

“That’s very generous. Of course, I’ll have to replace it for you. With something…bigger. You should expect another delivery tomorrow.”

Her smile turns upside down. And she smacks a rogue balloon out of the way.

Then she slams the door in my face.

I wait two seconds before calling through it, “Okay. I’ll see you later, Kate. Good talk.”

From inside, I hear Sister Beatrice’s voice: “Did Andrew leave already? Such a sweet boy he is. And devoted too, when he sets his heart to a task. Let me tell you about the time he weeded the convent’s garden. It’s a long story, but we ’ave all afternoon. There was a scuffle in the lunch room, you see…”





Traffic was a bitch and a half. Both ways. But I worked out the particulars with the skywriter. He was suiting up when I left. I now have just enough time to get to Kate’s office and get her to the roof. If she won’t come willingly, I’m just going to pick her up and carry her. Although I’d feel a lot better about the idea if I had a cup on.

Kate is definitely a kicker.

I sprint through the lobby and push the button for the elevator. But what I see when the doors open stops me cold.

It’s The Bitch, with Mackenzie at her side. And in my niece’s perfect little hands are strings. A dozen of them. Strings that are tied to balloons. Kate’s balloons.

“Fuck me.”

“Well, that’s a nice way to greet your doting sister and her daughter.”

Had I said that out loud? Doesn’t matter.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

This is bad—very bad. Like an F-five tornado kind of bad, except my sister is capable of leaving more damage behind.

“Hi, Uncle Drew!”