There were only two things in her apartment she could count on: having hot water anytime she needed and a refrigerator that kept the foods inside ice-cold. She was taking another sip of her juice when T.A. realized she was warm. Not only warm but toasty warm.
Going to the thermostat beside the kitchen, she saw that it was actually working.
“Hallelujah! The manager finally fixed my heater.”
“He didn’t have any choice. I called him at 3 a.m. this morning and told him if it wasn’t fixed by 8 a.m., one of my lawyers would be filing a lawsuit. He was here by 4 a.m.”
Watching him flip another page of the magazine, she went to the window to stare out.
“Damn.”
It was snowing. Not only was it snowing big fat globs of puffiness, it looked like there were already several inches of accumulation, blowing any chance of tossing his reading ass out of the door.
She curled onto the chair beside the couch while balefully watching as he continued to ignore her.
“How did you get Kevin’s number?”
“Sex Piston gave it to me. She also gave me her key to your apartment.”
“I’ll have to thank her for that,” she said snidely, “when the snow melts, and I can get close enough to kick her ass.” No longer drunk off her ass, she wasn’t ready to have the gung-ho attitude toward Dalton that Sex Piston suggested.
Putting her glass on the coffee table, she started to drum her fingers on the arm of her chair as she waited for him to say something. She eyed him to see if there were any visible marks on him.
“Aren’t you going to ask about the fight last night?”
Her fingers stopped drumming as she debated telling him the truth.
“I don’t have to. I knew those fuckers weren’t going to take Stud—”
Her mouth dropped when Dalton closed the magazine and set it on the cushion next to him, clearly showing the distinctively blinged-out cell phone resting on his lap.
“How did you get my phone?”
“It kept going off when you were sleeping. I was curious who was texting you so late.” He shrugged, then his gaze pinned her to the chair. “Do you and your friends have to tell each other everything?”
“How do you know what we’re texting about? My phone is thumbprint protected.”
“Then next time, don’t get so drunk that you don’t feel someone using your thumb to open it.”
Sneaky fucker. Did it make her bad that she thought that character flaw was sexy? Turning her hand over, she stared down at her nails to avoid his accusing gaze.
“We don’t tell each other everything.”
“You pretty much do,” he snapped. “And just to make sure there is no mistake, I do not give you my permission to take a picture of my dick.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Then how am I supposed to win the bet?”
“That’s not my problem; it’s yours.”
“I don’t have fifty dollars!” she wailed.
“You should have thought of that before you made the bet.”
Jumping off the chair, she retrieved her cell phone. Her pulse leaped at the implacable expression that had her hastening back to the chair. Once she was safely seated, her bravery reasserted itself.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway,” she said absently as she went through the text message that had come through after she had fallen asleep.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not with you anymore, so it doesn’t matter how long your dick is.”
“Do Stud, Train, Calder, and Cade know your friends are comparing their husbands’ dicks?”
T.A. thought about the question, trying not to flush at some of the texts. “Stud knows. Sex Piston tells him everything—well, almost everything. I don’t think she told him she was knocked up before last night. But I don’t think that Train, Calder, and Cade know.”
“I would have thought Stud would have filled them in on that piece of information.”
Confused at his snippy comeback, she looked over at Dalton.
“Why would he tell them? He has the biggest dick. He wouldn’t want his brothers to feel bad. Crazy Bitch said his apple must have fallen farther away from the tree. Whatever that means. Killyama swears to me, Fat Louise, and Crazy Bitch that Train’s is bigger but doesn’t tell Sex Piston because she likes bragging on Stud too much to burst her bubble.”
“Do you have any Tylenol?”
“In the kitchen cabinet beside the fridge. You sore from fighting last night?”
“No,” he said as he got up. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“That’s just rude.”
He stopped behind the couch to press his hands down on the back.
“And discussing your friend’s husband’s penis isn’t?”
“Why are you raising your voice to me? It’s not like it concerns you anymore!”
Her hands held calmly on to her cell phone when he seemed to be restraining the urge to yell at her. He took a deep sigh she heard from where she was sitting. She watched him expectedly for him to shout at her. Bear would often have the neighbors come knocking on the apartment door when he had become angry at her.