Anthony sits at the table like he’s done it hundreds of times before, and I’m guessing he has. Watching their interaction and how they rib each other, it’s clear that he isn’t solely an employee to Boone. He’s also a friend.
“So, you get those interviews knocked out?” Anthony asks.
I’m curious about this too, because I felt like shit that Boone missed something because of me.
A pissed-off expression flashes across Boone’s features before he wipes it away. “Yeah, I did. But I’m telling Nick and Charity that I’m done with them if they can’t leave the personal questions out of it. I’m there to talk about my music, and that’s it.”
Anthony glances at me, and heat works its way up my neck to my cheeks.Were they questions about me or about the ex? Or both?I’d put my money on the last.
The head of security changes the subject. “You got plans for the rest of the day? Writing?”
I assume writing means writing songs, and my assumption is confirmed when Boone shrugs.
“Nah. Not feeling the words right now. I’m still finding my rhythm for these last few.” His attention shifts to me. “I was thinking I’d set up some targets and see if this city girl can shoot.”
My eyebrows climb up my forehead. “Say what now?”
“You and me and a couple of long guns on the porch. You’re in the country; you gotta do some country shit. And I can guarantee you won’t be walking all over the house on that ankle.”
“I’m fine. I swear. It barely even hurts.”
“Because you took pain meds. That doesn’t mean you’re all better, sugar. You gotta take it easy.”
“The doctor said a few days. Tomorrow is basically three days, and it’s already afternoon, so I’m pretty much there.” My argument may be ridiculous, but it’s the only one I’ve got. “Besides, I’ll go stir crazy if you expect me to sit on that couch all day eating bonbons. I’m not that kind of girl.”
A smile twitches the edge of his mouth. “I figured that out.” He trades a meaningful look with Anthony, and I have no idea what kind of silent conversation they’re having.
When we finish eating, Boone and Anthony carry the containers of leftovers to the fridge, and Anthony bursts out laughing when he opens the door.
Boone spins around to look at me. “What the hell happened to my fridge?”
45
Boone
Ripley is a nut, but damned if I don’t like her exactly that way. I leave the girl for a couple of hours, and instead of taking it easy, she reorganized most of my kitchen.
I can’t help but picture Amber in the same situation. She wouldn’t have moved her ass off the couch. She would have called me every five minutes to fetch and carry for her. I would have wanted to strangle her within a half hour because of the constant interruptions. If one hundred percent of my attention wasn’t fixed on her whenever we were in the same place, she’d stage a snit fit to end all snit fits.
At the time, I’d just assumed that’s what you had to put up with when you were with someone long-term, like embracing their flaws with their strengths, but now I know that’s total bullshit.
Amber was probably a little bit of a bitch.
Ripley, on the other hand, is a straight-up nut.
I’ll take a nut over a bitch any day, even though she’s staring at the .22 in my hands like it’s going to jump up and bite her.
“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot,” Esteban squawks through the open window where he watches from his cage.
“Zip it, bird,” I say over my shoulder before looking back at Ripley. “You ever shoot a gun before?”
She shakes her head, still warily eying the Winchester rifle.
“Then it’s about time you learn. Never know when you might need the skill.”
“Maybe we could try something smaller first?”
“Like a BB gun? Because that’s about all that’s gonna be smaller. Maybe a pellet gun.” I take in her expression. “You scared?”