Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday (best e reader for manga txt) 📗

"Kung pao?"

I opened my eyes to see Raley shoving a white container toward me.

I gratefully took it and loaded some of the tofu dish onto my plate. It was triangular chunks of lightly fried tofu with broccoli, onions, carrots, and mushrooms in a thick orangey-red sauce. And it smelled like heaven. Okay, so it would have been slightly more enjoyable with chicken than tofu, but this was a start.

"Did you get any noodles?" I asked, peeking into the other white containers on the counter.

"Veggie chow mein." Raley shoved a container my way.

"Thanks," I said, scooping some onto my plate.

Mom patted Raley's chest and whispered, "I think you scored a point."

I pretended to not hear them as I took my full plate to the table and sat down. Okay, so the detective was bribing the teenager with food. No need to make a big deal of it. I'm sure it was a one-time thing.

Mom and Raley filled their plates and sat too, and I tried to largely tune them out as I focused on the meal. Which was actually delicious. Okay fine—score one small point for Raley. The man knew good takeout. Of course, with a generous midsection like his, I'd expect the man to know his fast food. In fact, I bet he knew every good burger place in town. The greasiest french fries, the most jelly-filled donuts, the most chip-laden chocolate chip cookies—

"Earth to Hartley?"

I must've tuned them out completely because I looked up with an extra long noodle hanging from my mouth and found both of them staring at me. I bit the noodle with my teeth and felt it sideswipe my chin on its way back down to my plate. "Huh?"

"I said that your boyfriend seemed nice," Mom said.

I stopped chewing and allowed the food to sit in my mouth. I was afraid I'd choke if I tried swallowing.

Raley nodded while shoveling sauce soaked rice into his mouth. "A solid young man."

I finally swallowed, the noodle sticking in my throat. "Chase is not my boyfriend."

Mom just smiled and stabbed her fork into a tofu wedge. "Right, right. Just a friend." She gave me a completely not subtle wink.

I rolled my eyes.

"Well, her friend," Raley said, matching Mom's exaggerated wink, "is very nice.

Oh brother. Now he was in on it too?

"Chase is not my boyfriend," I reiterated, completely without a wink. "And he's not nice."

Mom frowned. "What do you mean? What did he do to you?"

I shook my head. "No, I didn't mean he's not nice like that. He's just not like one of those nice guys, you know?"

"No, Hartley, I don't know." Mom was still frowning. "What are you trying to say?"

"He's just…" He was just kind of into death metal and drove an old sports car like a maniac and wore dark and dangerous clothes and sometimes even guyliner. Bad Boy Chase was so not who I thought my mom expected me to date. Not that we were dating. I mean there had been one date. But that didn't mean we were dating.

I realized Mom and Raley were both looking at me expectantly.

I sighed.

"I have to get to Sam's. She's waiting for me to start our homework."

Mom pursed her lips. But since I'd used the magical "H" word, there wasn't much she could say as I gathered my plate and took it to the sink.

I ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I quickly packed a change of clothes in my backpack, along with the homework that I did, in fact, actually have for that evening—see, I wasn't a total liar—and made my way back downstairs. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mom and Raley leaning close together at the table, mumbling about something.

"ByeMomloveyouseeyoulater," I said all in one rush as I closed the front door behind me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

As soon as I knocked on Sam's front door, I could hear the sounds of Mr. Kramer's deep baritone mingling with Mrs. Kramer's twilling soprano. Sam answered the door with a pair of ear buds in, quickly ushering me upstairs.

"Little Shop of Horrors," she explained loudly, leading the way to her room.

"Little house of horrors is more like it," I mumbled as Mrs. Kramer hit a particularly high, off-key note.

"You're telling me," Sam yelled back, her hearing clearly muted by the earbuds. "If I hear 'Suddenly Seymour' one more time, I'm moving out."

"I take it Kevin did not find a buddy to rent a room from?"

"Negative," Sam said, shaking her head. "Turns out all his buddies know Kevin as well as we do."

I stifled a snort. "Meaning they know he's broke?"

"And will monopolize the TV. And the couch." She paused. "And the food."

"Gee, I can't imagine why your parents want him to move out," I said.

She shrugged. "Could be worse. At least he's quiet."

Thankfully, in Sam's room with the door closed and the stuffed snake she'd won at Paramount's Great America the summer before shoved at the bottom of the door, the showtunes were only slightly annoying. Down to a level where we could get our homework done quickly before dressing for the grand finale of Gamer Con—the Pixel Ball.

Sam dressed in a red and black plaid mini skirt, black boots, and a sleeveless black top. She fashioned a couple of brown belts loosely around her waist and turned to me. "What do you think? Pretty legit, right?"

"You're going to hate me, but who are you?" I asked.

She sighed. "Iris Amicitia. We're both from the Final Fantasy franchise, and we're supposed to match." She eyed my outfit. "Speaking of which, you did not take my wardrobe notes."

I glanced down at my ankle-length gray skirt and white tank top.