Maeve
Isquealed like adamn toddler when I saw Haven’s blue hair bobbing toward us as she exited the train station. She heard me and took off running toward me with her arms wide open. I caught her, lifting her feather-light ass off the ground, and spun her.
“We’re in a romcom,” she yelled.
“Oh, man. I was goin’ for dramatic reunion scene in a soap opera.” I pushed my bottom lip out in a pout.
Haven waved at the man behind me. “Hi, Santiago.”
He tipped his chin. “Hey.” Like the complete gentleman I found him to be nearly all the time, he grabbed her small carry-on bag from her and led the way to his truck.
I’d only had to mention in passing Haven would be coming into Baltimore on the train and Santiago told—not offered—me he’d take me to pick her up.
“You look pretty, lover,” Haven said, squeezing my side.
I poked one of my cheeks. “Thanks, sugar britches. This is the result of nearly a month straight of makin’ music with musicians I admire. I never thought drumming would be my full-time job, but here I am.”
“You’re saying all I have to do to get an ethereal glow is live my dream?”
I snorted a little laugh. “Sounds about right.”
“Oh, joy. Well, I’ll settle for a drab complexion until I grow some balls and finally bump off Scott Porter.”
Santiago threw Haven’s bag in his truck and opened the passenger door for us. I climbed in first, sliding to the middle of the bench, and Haven squeezed in next to me. When Santi climbed in on his side, we were thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, bringing with him the scent of his soap and a faint hint of my laundry softener and something else just below it all I couldn’t identify but liked very much. The heat of his body warmed me through the thin cotton separating us.
He smiled at Haven, then me. Santi’s smile up close was deadly. Every scruffy-jawed, beefy-muscled, drool-inducing bit of him was dangerous.
“You might want to consider discussing your plans to bump a man off in private,” he said.
“If anyone knew Scott Porter, they’d agree the moral thing to do was put him down,” I said.
“It’s true,” Haven agreed. “No one would blame me for taking him out.”
Santiago chuckled all low and fuzzy. Or maybe that was me turning fuzzy from sitting this close to him. Haven was pressed into my other side. I just needed to concentrate on the feel of her to get the man to my left out of my mind.
“Did he treat you wrong?” Santi asked.
“I didn’t love him, so he’s intent on ruining my career. Does that count?” she asked.
I felt the rumble coming from his chest. “Next time I’m in New York, point me in his direction. I’ll have a talk with him.”
Haven fanned her face. “Whew! The testosterone in this truck! I don’t think I can handle it.”
“Don’t like men who mistreat women.”
“Not anymore,” she added.
“Never,” he said.
I turned to her, rolling my eyes. She screwed up her face and stuck her tongue out. We exchanged a million words through contorting our faces.
Did he forget what he said to you?
How ugly he was?
Does stomping on a friendship not count as mistreating women?
Uh, isn’t he a womanizer?