Smokin Seventeen - Janet Evanovich [70]
Most of the bloodstain was gone from the carpet, and Dillon left the coffee cup sitting by my door. I took the cup inside, locked and bolted my door, and said hello to Rex. I poked around in the refrigerator, but it was pretty much empty. No more beer. No more leftovers. I finished off the box of Fruit Loops and went to bed.
• • •
Monday morning, a little before eight o’clock, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. I stared at the empty shelves in the refrigerator and went through the cupboards. No milk. No coffee. No cereal. I shuffled out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. I took a shower, got dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and girlie T-shirt, and went back to the kitchen to see if food had magically appeared. The doorbell rang and without thinking I opened the door to Dave Brewer.
Brewer had two black eyes and a Band-Aid across his nose, and he was holding a grocery bag and a bag from the coffee shop.
“I brought you breakfast,” he said.
I was dumbstruck. I didn’t know whether I should get my gun out of the cookie jar on the counter and shoot him, or apologize for breaking his nose.
He moved past me, put the bags down, pulled out a large coffee, and handed it to me. “I thought I’d make an omelet. And I got fresh croissants from the bakery.”
“I don’t want an omelet.”
“Have you already eaten breakfast?”
“No.”
“Then you want an omelet. I make an awesome omelette,” Dave said.
“Aren’t you mad that I broke your nose?”
He found the fry pan, put it on the stove, and added oil. “I guess I was out of line. I read the cues wrong.”
“I’m happy to have the coffee, but I don’t want you in my kitchen,” I told him.
He stood hands on hips and looked at me. “Why not?”
“You make me uncomfortable.”
He got the cutting board out and chopped onion, ham, and red pepper. “You have to be more specific than that.”
“I already have a boyfriend, and I don’t want another one.”
“Morelli? You’ve been fooling around with him since you were in kindergarten, and your mother says it’s not going anywhere. We think you need someone new.”
“Maybe, but it’s not you.”
He dumped the chopped stuff into the hot oil and stirred it around. “Why isn’t it me? I’m very likable. I’m attractive. I’m really good in bed. You wouldn’t know because you’ve never given me a chance, but I know what I’m doing.”
What is it with men? They all think they’re great in bed and women want to see them naked. It’s like some genetic chromosome thing.
“You’re a nice guy. And you’re right … you’re likable and attractive. You should look around. I’m sure you won’t have any problem finding a girlfriend.”
He cracked a bunch of eggs into a bowl and whipped them up. “I was voted Mr. Popularity in high school.”
“I remember.”
How the heck was I going to get him out of my apartment? It seemed excessively mean to break his nose a second time.
“And I was captain of the football team.”
“Yeah.” Stun gun, I thought. I could stun gun him.
He stirred the sizzling ham and onion around, poured the egg in, and grated some cheddar cheese. The whole kitchen smelled fabulous. I sipped my coffee and thought it wouldn’t hurt to eat first and then stun gun him.
He took two plates from the cupboard and put a croissant on each plate. He fussed with his omelet, added the cheese, and folded the omelet over. “If I’d had more time I could have made bacon or breakfast sausages,” he said, taking the pan off the stove, dividing the omelet in half. “This is healthier anyway. I don’t want a fat girlfriend.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Not yet.”
I was definitely going to stun gun him. And I was going to enjoy it. He slid half the omelet onto my plate, and we took our breakfast to the dining room table. I gobbled everything down and drained my coffee cup.
“Delicious,” I said.
“If you let me stay overnight