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“Would you girls like some coffee?” Cookie and I glanced at each other. That was like asking the sun if it would like to shine.
“Your eyes are the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen. They’re—” “Gold,” I said with another smile.
She threw the car into park and glared. Hard. She would do well in a prison setting.
I scooted through the basement window on my stomach and dropped into a somersault, landing on my feet on the cement slab of the basement. ’Cause that’s how I roll.
I hated it when I bled internally. If I was going to bleed, I wanted to see the evidence, revel in the heroics of it all.
How did she always know I was coming? I was pure stealth. Smoke. Nigh invisible. Like a ninja without the head wrap.
“You stir up more hornets’ nests than a twelve-year-old boy with a baseball bat. You’re like Lois Lane on crack.”
“I’m going to tell you something,” I said, hoping that leap of faith wouldn’t come to a crash landing in a cactus patch. ’Cause that shit was painful.
“Can we agree to disagree?” “No.” “So we are disagreeing?” “No.” “So we’re in agreement?” “No.”
Cookie dropped her purse and tried to catch it midair. In the process, she knocked over a vase. When she lunged for the vase, she slipped on the tile and overturned an entire table. A lovely handblown piece of glass flew in my direction, and all I could think as I caught it was, Really? Again?
He was walking toward us with a purpose. A mission. Or hemorrhoids. Or both.
“You’re not my type.” Damn. It happened. What was a girl to do?
“This happens when my life flashes before my eyes.” She paused and stared straight ahead a moment. “And I may or may not have peed my pants.”
For the first time in my life, I was in a shoot-out. A real, honest-to-goodness shoot-out with a bad guy. And apparently, we both sucked.
