Killer Summer by Lynda Curnyn (e book reading free .txt) 📗

tell you everyone was making food, right?” Sage said, stopping midgrind to stare at me.

I looked at Zoe. Or rather, Zoe’s feet. “What did Zoe make?”

“Apple pie,” Zoe replied.

“Really?” I was impressed. Hell, maybe I had underestimated the women in my life. “I didn’t know you baked, Zoe!‘

Her feet came down as she sat up. “I don’t. Mrs. Smith does, though. I got it at the market.”

“Whoa, Zoe, what happened to your face?” I said, once I saw her beet-red cheeks and nose.

She turned a shade redder, if that was possible, and slapped her hands over her cheeks with dismay. “Does it look terrible?”

It didn’t exactly look good. But I knew enough about women not to say that. “It looks okay.”

“Really? Everyone’s not going to think I’m a freak, are they?”

“Nah,” I said. “Anybody asks, just tell them you got that disease. What’s it called again? The one where your face gets real red and your skin dries out?”

“Ohhhhhh!” She jumped up from the couch, running from the room on legs that were almost as red as her face. Except in stripes. Long red stripes. Ouch.

“Aloe vera’s in my bag, Zoe,” Sage yelled after her.“Just keep putting it on!”

She turned to me, pausing in her stirring. “What the hell did you have to go and say that for?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.“Wasn’t thinking, I guess. Besides, she’s not usually so sensitive. What’s up with that?”

“She ran into Myles today,” Sage replied, wiping the excess salad off the mixing spoon, then tossing the spoon in the sink.

“Oh, yeah? Does he have a share out here, too?”

“Apparently. Zoe’s not happy about it, so…” Sage said, giving me a meaningful look. As if I needed a reminder not to bring up the “M” word. I don’t know what Zoe was getting so uptight about. If Bern were here, I’d see it as an opportunity. A booty opportunity, that is. Of course, if Bern were here instead of San Francisco, we wouldn’t be broken up or whatever we were. I hadn’t heard from her since Dear Nick letter number 7,675. Not that I cared. I had better things to do now that I was a man with a plan. Or rather, a man with an investor. Uh, that is, an investment.

“So what took you so long to get out here? Zoe’s scalding notwithstanding, you missed a nice beach day.”

“Oh, I had some business to take care of,” I said, my eye straying to the knapsack I had dropped on the floor, which contained my brand-spanking-new laptop, purchased today at Comp USA. It had taken me a little longer than expected—the crowds were chaotic—but it was worth it. This new machine kicked ass—and was fast as hell. Which was what I needed. With the new Web site for the record label, I’d need more speed and functionality. Besides, now that I had a little cash to play with, it was about time I updated my PC.

“What kind of business?” Sage covered the bowl with foil, then slid it into the fridge.

“You know, computer stuff,” I answered vaguely, wondering if I should have brought the laptop out here with me. Not that I’d spent a lot of money, but I didn’t want Sage to wonder about my sudden cash flow. I didn’t think she was computer savvy enough to notice my new upgrade, but you never know.

I picked up my bag. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away,” I said, making an exit before she could question anything else—like the brand-spanking-new knapsack I was carrying. I needed it, you know? It had a special insert to store the computer in, and I didn’t want anything to happen to this baby.

I headed down the hall to the purple room, which was on the other side of the communal bathroom from Sage and Zoe’s room. Aside from the fact that it looked like an Easter egg, it was the best room in the house, in my opinion, mostly because it had a private entrance that led out on to the back deck. Okay, the best room would be Tom and Maggie’s—uh, that is, Tom’s—since he had an ocean view and master bath. But since I had the purple room all to myself, that meant I could push the two twin beds together and make a double, whereas Sage and Zoe had to contend with trying to sleep on those twin beds without tumbling off. But then again, I’m a big guy—nearly six feet. Okay, five-eleven and a half, but still, a guy like me needs room. In fact, I should set up the bed right now, so I can just tumble right in after the party later, I thought, remembering the last time I had tumbled into bed here, too drunk to deal with pushing the beds together, and wound up on the floor in the middle of the night. Swinging the door open to the room, I was surprised to discover someone had beat me to it—in fact, not only had someone already pushed the beds together, but a female someone, if the pink thong on the floor was any indication. Wow, that was a tiny thong. Probably Sage’s. What the heck was Sage doing in my bedroom? Maybe she hooked up last night and needed the privacy.

I began to slide my pack off my shoulders, when I saw a decidedly un-Sage-like item on the nightstand. A Britney Spears CD. God, no. If Sage did go for either of the two tarts who had taken over the teen world, she was more a Christina Aguilera girl than a Britney girl. And Zoe…Zoe was into that vagina rock. You know, like Sarah McLachlan, the fucking Cranberries. Besides, I couldn’t see Zoe in that thong. She was cute and all, but that little scrap of pink…let’s just say it wasn’t her.

I put my pack down, dumbfounded, then headed back to the kitchen for some answers, but Sage had already left the kitchen and Zoe was probably still slathering on