“Does your girlfriend with the convertible rarely cook?” she asked between bites.
“She’s my aunt,” I laughed.
“She runs a successful publishing house, but let’s be honest—it was a hell of an entrance on the first day.” Ginger burst out laughing.
“She owns that bookstore downtown, though that’s strictly off the record,” I added with a wink.
“Well, that explains why you don’t mind being seen with a different girl every week,” she smiled.
“Every week?” I teased.
“That’s way too long-term for me.”
“Anyway, thank you for not seating them at our table,” she replied.
I just nodded.
Usually, I just went on dates; far fewer women actually visited my apartment than everyone believed.
If you’re going to be the black sheep, you might as well give people a reason to talk.
“Your aunt’s car is truly beautiful,” she said.
“I would’ve hopped in next to her too.”
“You like it?” I asked.
She nodded.
“When I’m a successful businesswoman, I’m going to buy one for myself.
Although I bet everyone assumes your aunt got it from a wealthy husband.”
“She’s single,” I replied.
“I’ll probably be single too, and then I’ll buy something like that,” she said, smiling.
“Your red hair would look great blowing in the wind,” I said.
“Assuming you could even see over the seat.” I teased her.
“I’m at the bottom of the curve,” she said.
“You’re just really tall.” I laughed.
“But I’ll buy a car where the seat is adjustable.” She laughed too.
“Does your aunt publish that mystery series you lent me?” she asked.
I nodded.
“That explains how you had it so soon after the release,” she concluded.
“It was a good book.
I finished it; I’ll give it back tomorrow.”
“You actually liked it?” I asked, curious.
She nodded.
“I like the author,” she said.
“I like that there’s a permanent private investigator duo, but the lead character who unravels the crime is different in every book.
I love the dynamic between the investigators.
They didn’t like each other at first, then they became friends, and they finally got married in the last volume,” she listed off enthusiastically.
“You’ve read them all?” I asked.
“Not the first one,” she said.
“I only heard about that one, then I started buying them.
I have almost all of them.” She pointed toward her bookshelf, where I could spot my own books from across the room.
“I’m sure some people criticize the author for being predictable, but I couldn’t write anything even close to that,” she continued.
“So, only people who can do better should criticize him.”
“Don’t you want to be a writer?” I asked.
She laughed.
“Writing and literature aren’t my world.
I do well in the world of numbers—Mr.
Barnaby is giving me more and more tasks—but literature isn’t for me.
My spelling isn’t exactly perfect, either.”
“How is the internship going?” I asked with interest.
“Mr.
Barnaby is very kind and a brilliant businessman.
He runs the company with his brother, but I’ve only met Mr.
Barnaby; he’s the one who looks after us interns.” She explained, “On the first day, he said selecting the interns early was his idea, so his brother let him handle that department.
There are four of us, so I imagine he does other things too.
They offered a very generous hourly wage, though I’d honestly work for them for free.” She laughed.
“A recommendation from them and I’ll be able to get a job anywhere.”
That was for sure.
Ginger leaned over the counter for a paper towel just as a glob of tomato sauce hit her top.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, laughing as she bundled the hem of her shirt like a sack and hurried to her room.
She only pulled the door to; I stood up quietly and walked over to the gap to peek in.
Her two beautiful breasts were encased in a high-coverage sports bra that was anything but sexy.
But when she turned her back to the door, it took everything I had not to let out a gasp.
Ginger’s back was covered in scars.
I finally started to understand why she was so closed off.
I wanted to know what kind of animal did that to a girl.
He deserved to be beaten to death.
I slipped back to my seat and stuffed a piece of pizza into my mouth.
“Do you want to play chess again today?” Ginger asked as she came out.
“Sure,” I shrugged.
“We can play, but next time I’m bringing a word game so I actually have a chance to win.” I laughed.