Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [11]
“First, it’s not your room. It’s my room. Second, I doubt he’d be shocked. You have to stop worrying about Zook. Third, he’s asleep.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“No. The couch sucks.”
Morelli was dressing in his usual uniform of jeans and T-shirt while he was talking. If the occasion dictated, Morelli sometimes wore slacks and a dress shirt, but Morelli avoided suits. He looked like an Atlantic City pit boss in a suit. And no one could keep a straight face at Morelli in khakis. Morelli was as far from preppy as a guy could get.
He sat on the bed, laced his shoes, leaned over me and nuzzled my neck. “I like when you’re all warm and soft from sleep.” He looked down at the shoes he’d just laced and thought for a moment. “These could come off.”
“Tempting.” Really tempting. “Will you be late for work if you take your shoes off?”
“Yeah. Don’t care. If the choice was a promotion and raise or doing you and getting fired, there’d be no contest.”
“The power of testosterone.”
“I thought it was love, but you could be right . . . it could be testosterone,” Morelli said. “Not that it matters, because bottom line is . . . I want you bad.”
I had the T-shirt halfway over his head. “Take your shoes off . . . fast,” I told him.
There were scuffling sounds in the hall and a timid knock on the bedroom door. “Anybody home?” Zook asked.
Morelli flopped spread-eagle onto the bed. “Crap.”
“Uno momento,” I called to Zook.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” Zook said from the other side of the door. “Should I go downstairs and look for cereal?”
“Yeah,” Morelli said. “Just prowl through the cupboards. Stephanie will be down in a couple minutes.”
I was already out of bed and searching for clothes. I went with one of Morelli’s T-shirts and a pair of his sweats. I stayed over from time to time, but I didn’t leave a lot of things at his house. Some underwear, socks, an extra pair of running shoes, some unmentionable personal products.
Zook had a box of Frosted Flakes in his hand when I walked into the kitchen. “My favorite,” I said to him.
“Do you live here?”
“Sometimes.”
“So you could be my, what . . . aunt-in-sin?”
“It’s my understanding that Morelli’s some sort of distant cousin, so technically . . . I wouldn’t be an aunt of any sort.”
I took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and set out a couple bowls. Morelli waltzed in and got coffee brewing.
“You’re up early,” Morelli said to Zook. “When do you have to be at school?”
“Not until eight, but I didn’t know how long it would take to walk.”
“You’re not walking,” Morelli said. “Stephanie’s taking you to school, and she’s going to watch you go through the door.”
“Dude, that’s so untrusting,” Zook said.
“Yeah, deal with it.”
Bob was sitting, tail wagging, looking at the cereal box. I knew Morelli had already walked and fed Bob, but that was meaningless in the world of Bob. Bob was the bottomless pit when it came to food. Bob was also the poster dog for canine graffiti art. I looked more closely and realized the pink and green swirls outlined in black on his back spelled out Zook.
“Pretty cool, hunh?” Zook said.
Morelli cut his eyes to Zook. “It’s not cool. You painted my dog.”
“Yeah, dude. He’s awesome. And totally arcane.”
“What’s arcane mean?” I asked.
“Magical.”
I thought I saw some steam starting to wisp out of Morelli’s ears and off the top of his head.
“Why don’t you grab a doughnut and some coffee on the way to work,” I said to Morelli. “I’ll take care of everything here.”
Morelli blew out a sigh and felt his pockets for Rolaids. “I have to run anyway. Early morning meeting. See you tonight.” He gave me a quick kiss and left the house.
When I heard the door close, I turned on Zook. “What the heck were you thinking? You don’t go around painting a man’s dog without his permission. You don’t even do it with his permission. It’s rude and insensitive and . . . wrong!”
I was yelling and waving my arms, and Zook was calmly pouring milk on his cereal.
I leaned palms on the table and got into his face. “Are you listening?