At least I know he’s still alive right now. When the police interrogate me later, I can tell them that’s all I know.
I quickly get dressed, thankful I don’t have time to second guess the outfit Tiffany pulled together for me. Not even the pearl necklace causes me to pause.
I’m not surprised when Tiff isn’t outside as I pull up. She’s probably wrapping Ace’s body in rug or something. But like the loyal friend I am, I head to her door, which is noticeably absent of shitty loud rap music this time. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, though.
The door swings open before I can knock. Tiffany is perfectly pulled together as usual . . . from the neck up. Hair? Curled into loose waves. Makeup? Instagram ready.
It’s from the shoulders down that is an utter clusterfuck of morning-after-frat-party-refugee chic.
“Is that a Rainbow Brite shirt? And where’s the rest of your skirt?” Dumb questions, I guess, because she glares behind her, where Ace sits sullenly on the couch.
But seriously, her shirt is probably a girl’s large at best, her belly button and several inches of abdomen exposed beneath the hem, and her skirt would be better described as a thick belt. I can’t see her ass from this angle, but I bet if Ace looked up from the floor, he’d be getting more than an eyeful of his sister’s assets.
Tiffany growls like an animal and Ace says, “I said I’m sorry.” I get the feeling he’s said it several times already. “I was trying to help.”
“Your laundry,” Tiffany replies crisply. “Clean the piss off the toilet, wash the dishes, and take out the trash. All of it. Capiche?”
“Yeah,” is his sad answer.
“Before I get home.” With that, Tiffany shoves me out the door. “Let’s go, I have to go by the cleaners on the way to work, and then, I’ll have to get dressed in your car. I’ll probably flash truckers from here to the office when I take this joke of a skirt off. What was I thinking?” She gestures to the tiny scrap of fabric. “Why did you let me wear this thing in public? I thought we were friends. Friends don’t let friends go out looking like hoes, Elle.”
I wisely decide not to remind her that we quite often went out wearing the latest and greatest in slutty fashion in our younger days. Hence, why that skirt is in her closet in the first place.
She sits down in my passenger seat and I remind myself to get Cammie detailed. It’s not that I don’t love Tiff, but I’m well aware that her bare ass is resting on my leather seat right now, and that’s just a little bit much, even for my bestie. I’m just grateful she’s got underwear on . . . well, I assume she does.
I focus on the obvious. “Why are you wearing that? What did Ace do?”
“He claims he wanted to help.” She does finger quotes around the word but one turns into a gun and she jokes at shooting herself. “Kill me now, because that boy took my laundry and washed it all. The dirties in my hamper? Maybe that would’ve been all right. But he took my work clothes too, the dry-clean only ones. Washed them all, and then to pour salt on the wound, dried them. I don’t think I have a single respectable item left, hence my current attire.”
“Holy shit,” I gasp, wincing. Tiffany’s always been a bit of a clothes hound, with a wardrobe that’d put mine to shame. But she’s ridiculously organized about hers, usually only keeping special pieces and her current on-trend lineup. “I’m surprised he’s still alive. I kinda assumed he wasn’t when you called.”
She holds her finger and thumb up, a skinny space separating them. “This close, I swear. If you’d been one second later.”
She bangs her head on the headrest. “Turn right at the next light. The cleaners is on the left.” I follow her directions and pull into the drive-thru line.
Tiffany requests her clothes from the passenger seat, glaring menacingly at the young guy when he stares at the long length of thigh she’s showing. I can’t help but laugh a little. “You can’t blame him. I mean, you’re a cough away from an ‘is there some other way I could pay?’ situation.”
Her glare hits me full-force. “Now who’s watching too much porn?”
And of course, that’s when the guy steps out the door to hand over Tiffany’s clothes. As if this morning could get any worse, he’s now looking at us like we’re a dream come true. No, scratch that . . . like a fantasy come true.
I have to get out and push the seat forward for him to hang the clothes in the back seat, and I swear to God, he sniffs the air as he leans down in front of me. And then he misses the hook twice because he’s side-eyeing Tiffany in the front seat. I can’t see his eyes, but I can tell because his head’s angled all wrong.
“Thank you. Have a nice day.” Polite words said with zero kindness and a full dose of get the fuck outta here seem to wake him up.
He steps back, having finally gotten the clothes secure. “Oh, I will. You ladies have a great day too.” He tips an invisible hat and steps back so I can get in and close the door. But before I can put Cammie into drive, he leans down, putting his forearms on the open windowsill.
“My name’s Joe. Would either of you ladies . . . or both of you . . . like to grab a drink tonight? I get off at six.”
I blink. I guess I should give him some credit for shooting his shot, but to ask both of us out seems beyond the pale, so I’m not feeling that generous. “Nope.”
I slip the shifter into first and gun the engine with my foot firmly on the brake. He takes the hint and moves back. A split second later, we’re flying down the road, beelining for the highway.
I look over to Tiffany, seeing that she’s still scowling and ruminating about Ace’s misdeeds.
“Want me to go back? You could get to know Joe a bit better. I could dare you to go out with him, if you want?” I offer it seriously, but she knows damn well that I’m kidding. It’s against rule one, and possibly rule two, though if things got that far between my bestie and the dry-cleaning guy, it’d be on her shoulders, not mine.
“Just drive,” she says with a sigh, but there’s a hint of a smile, so I’m taking the win.
The next stoplight, the last one before we hit the open road of rush-hour traffic, is a long one, so Tiffany unbuckles and works her way over the console and into the back seat. She absolutely flashes her ass to the driver of the car next to us, and the angry looking middle-aged woman honks and yells something that looks like ‘what the fuck?’ But the jacked-up truck in the far lane has a guy who looks like Tiff just made his day, judging by the width of his smile. He waves, and I shrug like whatcha gonna do?
Tiffany strips and gets dressed in more work-appropriate clothing while I drive on. As we merge onto the highway, Truck Driver honks his horn and waves again as he continues down the frontage road.
I laugh and look in the rearview mirror. “It seems you have another fan this morning, Miss Young.”
She flips me the bird and smarts off. “Well, with Ace’s help, at least you were too distracted to have what would’ve surely been an epic freak-out this morning. You’re welcome.” She tips her hat, copying Joe with a smirk.
“Thanks, you shouldn’t have,” I say dryly, but secretly, I think she’s probably right because now that she mentions it, I can feel the butterflies.