The Hitwoman and the Chubby Cherub (6 page)

“It’s mine. I could get this place ship-shape in no time.”

“Did you learn that in the Navy?”

He smirked at my lame joke.

“I’ll order pizza,” I said. “What do you like on it?”

“What do you usually get?”

“Olives.”

He grimaced. “Order my half without.”

“Not an olive fan?”

“Not at all.”

I nodded, thinking at last I’d found something about him that wasn’t perfect.

He hadn’t been exaggerating about his organizational skills. By the time the pizza arrived, he had the store once again looking like a reputable establishment.

As reputable as a lingerie shop that sold way too many sexual aids could be.

I paid the pizza delivery guy and declared, “Time to eat.”

But before we could chow down, the door opened and a force of nature hurtled inside.

Chapter Six

“Gotchya!” Armani declared victoriously as she limped inside.

I looked from the pizza box to my psychic friend. “What are you supposed to be, the junk food police?”

“Pizza is
not
junk food,” Angel asserted, snatching the box away from me as though he thought he was going to be deprived his slice.

“Interesting you said police,” Armani said slyly.

My mouth went dry and my heartbeat did double-time. Had she had a psychic vision about my assassination business?

“That’s why I’m here.” She tossed her shampoo commercial-worthy hair, satisfaction gleaming in her gaze.

“I’m sorry, why are you here?”

“You need these.” She reached into her purse with her good hand and rummaged around.

Angel watched her with an expression that flitted between fascination and anticipation.

I tried not to throw up.

“Here they are!” Armani pulled out something pink and fuzzy and threw them at me.

Instinct made me catch them, though I immediately held them with just my thumb and one finger, dangling them in front of my face like I used to do when Aunt Susan would ask me to dispose of the mousetraps at the B&B. Realizing I hadn’t been tasked with that unpleasant job since Piss had moved in, I made a mental note to thank the cat for being our on site exterminator.

It took me a second to realize I was holding a pair of handcuffs, albeit a pink, fuzzy pair.

“I don’t understand,” I said slowly, wondering if this was my friend’s way of putting me under citizen’s arrest.

“Me neither, it’s a psychic thing,” she admitted cheerfully. “But I know it’s important that you have them.”

“Thanks?” It came out sounding more like a question than an expression of gratitude.

She turned her attention to Angel who was still standing there watching the exchange. “Don’t worry, handsome. I have more pairs at home.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he chuckled. “Pizza?”

“Did chica order it?”

He nodded.

She wrinkled her nose. “What’s on it?”

I choked back a laugh. Considering Armani regularly ate the oddest, most disgusting food combinations, I found it amusing that she disliked my choice of toppings.

Angel lifted the box to eye level and peeked inside. “Looks like half pepperoni, half sausage.”

Armani sighed. “I guess that will have to do.”

I felt the same way. I’d ordered it for Angel figuring as an alpha male he probably wouldn’t be caught dead with veggies on his pie, but personally I’d have preferred my slice to be topped with olives.

“It’s a free dinner,” I reminded her, hooking the handcuffs onto the belt loop of my jeans since I didn’t have a better place to keep them. “Beggars shouldn’t be choosers.”

“I’m not begging. I earned that dinner by bringing you the cuffs.”

“I’ll go find some plates,” Angel said, disappearing into the back with the pizza.

“You’re spending a lot of time with him. Anything I should know?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“You’re the psychic. You tell me,” I joked.

Her mouth fell open.

“No,” I replied hurriedly. “No, there’s nothing going on between us.”

Tilting her head to the side she studied me closely, a smug smile slowly spreading over her face.

Feeling my own face heat, I held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Just don’t,” I warned.

“Don’t what?” Angel asked, reappearing with the pizza, paper plates and napkins.

Angel arched an eyebrow when neither of us answered.

Feeling my face begin to heat, I tried to remember whether Aunt Loretta stocked ball gags in the “special” room. “Nothing,” I muttered. I caught Armani’s eye. “Right?”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” she agreed.

“I couldn’t find anything to drink.” Angel tossed the pizza on the checkout counter and pulled the stool behind it out, offering it to Armani with a flourish. “M’lady.”

Armani fanned herself. “Handsome and charming.”

He winked at her. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“See what you’re missing, chica,” she teased as he helped her into the chair.

“I’m going to find something to drink,” I choked out, stumbling into the back before I gave into my urge to wring her neck.

Things were confusing enough with Angel without Armani pulling her psychic matchmaker card.

I went to the back of the shop and glared at the dress form with a ceramic horse head stuck on top of it. It was outfitted in an orange negligee.

“You look hideous, Bertha,” I muttered.

The horse stared at me glassily, unmoved by the insult.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” I plucked the horse head off, tucked it under my arm, and used my free hand to reach inside the cavity of the body.

Sure enough, my fingers found the neck of a bottle. I withdrew the bottle of wine carefully and then replaced the head. I pet the horse’s ceramic mane. “Your sacrifice is appreciated.”

I carried the wine and some paper cups back to the others. Armani was laughing at something Angel had said. I didn’t know whether she genuinely found him funny or if she was just flirting.

“Either of you have a corkscrew?” I interrupted holding up the bottle of wine.

Angel shook his ruefully. “Sorry.”

“I’ve got one in my car.” Armani moved to slide off her seat.

Angel stopped her by gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

Armani handed him the keys. “Can you grab the pack of sandwich cookies from the front seat?”

“Will do.” He rushed off.

“He
is
yummy,” she murmured, watching appreciatively as his butt walked out the door.

“Seriously,” I said hurriedly. “What are the handcuffs for?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

I frowned.

“Cheer up, chica. All will be revealed in time.”

“I never found that ‘calm tub’,” I reminded her. Her last prediction hadn’t panned out. I didn’t know if this one would either.

“It will,” she replied with conviction. “Besides, maybe the handcuffs are meant to be used on the manny.”

I glanced in the direction of the door and was relieved to see that Angel hadn’t yet returned. “You need to stop saying stuff like that.”

“I’m only commenting on what I see.”

“Is that with your eyes or is it one of your delusional visions?” I snapped.

Armani sat back.

The guilt was instantaneous. I’d hurt her with my barbed comment. “I’m sorry.”

She waved me off.

“You know I believe in your gift,” I wheedled.

She nodded slowly. “I know. Which is how I know that if you’re trying to dismiss it that there’s something to it.”

I looked away, unable to come up with an argument.

Angel jogged back inside, a corkscrew in one hand and a package of cookies in the other. “I love a woman who’s prepared.”

Armani beamed.

While Angel opened the wine, I handed out pizza.

“We’ve got pepperoni or sausage” I said. “Who wants which?”

“Pepperoni for me,” Armani said, opening the package of cookies.

“One of each for me.” Angel poured the wine.

I took a slice of plain pie for myself.

Once we all had our wine, Angel raised his cup in a toast. “To dinner with two beautiful women.”

“To handcuffs and tubs,” Armani added.

They looked at me expectantly.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say. Finally I came up with, “To friends that I’m grateful for.”

We clinked, which was more like the crumpling of cups, and settled in to eat. Angel and I dug right in, but Armani’s preparations required more time.

We watched as she pulled the sandwich cookies apart, plucked the pepperoni from her pizza and put it on top of the cookie’s cream center. She ate the new version of the sandwich open-faced, saving the other wafer to put in the pepperoni’s place on the pizza.

Personally, I found the combinations nauseating, but they didn’t appear to offend Angel who watched the entire process with fascination.

“This probably isn’t how you expected to spend your evening,” I apologized.

“What I’ve found,” he replied, “is that all my expectations go out the window when I’m with you and your family.”

I winced.

“Hey,” he joked lightly. “That just means you’re not boring.”

“I’d give anything to be boring,” I muttered.

“I wouldn’t. Tedium equals death,” Armani declared dramatically.

I rolled my eyes.

“No one would ever accuse you of being boring,” Angel assured her.

We continued eating in silence. I can’t speak for the others, but I pondered the appeal or revulsion of boredom.

Finishing her pizza, Armani slid off the chair. “Gotta go.”

“Hot date?” Angel asked.

“Setting up a hot date,” she replied. “Have I given you my PMS card?”

Angel blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Give him my PMS card, chica,” she ordered.

“Will do,” I promised.