The Delivery by Mara White Read Free Book Online Page A

Jennifer! Just give out all of my person information to a delinquent so he can show up at my door with a knife. Wait a second. Is he digging for information? On me? Does that mean he likes me?
    I quickly smear red lipstick on my mouth and then push open the bathroom door, praying it won’t squeak. Then I let it go so it slams as hard as possible, and I clack my heels on the tile to make my presence painfully obvious.
    “Hello, Jennifer. Mozey.” I nod at them both and grasp my clutch like a life raft and force my face into a freakishly scary smile. I feel like I’m doing this a lot. Smiling should be a natural thing, not a defensive umbrella that I snap open in peoples’ faces and scare the bejeezus out of them. Me and my face have a few things to work on.
    “Hey, Doc.” Jennifer smiles back, looking like a guilty Cocker Spaniel. “You should check out Mozey’s work today. He really blew this one out of the water.”
    They both look scared. I probably have lipstick all over my teeth.
    Jennifer smiles again and shifts because she feels guilty for talking about me behind my back—for reveling in the moment of getting to call me a mean bitch. But Mozey is unaffected or at least I can’t see his guilt. He just stares and stares, his eyes penetrating right through me, trying to reach oil or China. For how much he shakes me, it seems I can barely make him waver.
    “I’ll look at it on Monday. I’ve got people waiting.” I stare back at Mozey, silently accepting his challenge. “Are you coming tonight?” I ask Jennifer, knowing she’ll back out of it.
    “I was just locking up. My folks are in town, actually.”
    “All right, well, have a good weekend everybody,” I say to them as if I were addressing a crowd. I wave a baby wave and angrily make my way toward the stairs.
    I’m halfway down the flight when Mozey grabs me by the shoulder. I turn around to meet his face. His eyes are fierce, and he’s glaring, looking like he wants to fight. He’s so fucking beautiful that it almost hurts me to look.
    “I told you no fraternizing. Try to keep your hands to yourself!” I say, throwing out the accusations unspoken between us.
    “Who is Gunnar? Someone you’re seeing?”
    “I beg your pardon?” I spit back at him, and I’m angry he’s been prying. Things are all heading in a bad direction. I need to pull the break. “I appreciate the painting, Mozey. But this is where I tell you any designs you may have toward anyone who works here are strictly off limits and those kinds of things will walk you right out of the building.”
    “I don’t have any designs.”
    “Jennifer is your supervisor.”
    “Who cares about Jennifer?”
    I can’t make it any more explicit without embarrassing myself. I’m breathing hard just from the two us standing so close.
    “So let’s just call it a week and from here on out keep it in your pants until you’ve either been handed a sentence or you’re acquitted at trial. That’s the very best advice I can give you. Consider this your last warning.” I’m whisper-shouting at him, and I’m hyperaware this is all being recorded by our security system.
    “Why can’t you just be yourself around me?” Mozey asks, looking forlorn. “I just want to get to know you. I really like you, but you’re like Fort Knox. You won’t even let me be nice to you.”
    He’s right, and it makes me sigh and roll my shoulders in defeat. He’s got great intuition, but it still doesn’t change things. I want to be honest, but I have to be very, very careful. I cannot encourage him, no matter how right being near him feels or how much I like it.
    I sit on the stair and pat the spot beside me. Mozey crouches down with his legs wide and leans against the railing.
    “I’m from Detroit, Mosey. From Michigan,” I say, trying to wrap my head around how I’ll say this. “I heard you asking.”
    “Me chingan,” Mozey smiles.
    “What?”
    “Mexican joke.”
    “My family was, is—also made