Pick Your Poison
“My whole body went limp with relief. “Steven Bradley! You gave me a mouthful of my own heart!”“Sorry,” he said. “Thought I could sneak in and out without waking you.”“I know I locked that door. And the alarm was on.”“No alarm, babe. You musta forgot, as usual.” He then held a key with a sheepish grin. “Found this a month or two after the divorce. Couldn’t sleep, thanks to all the Dr Pepper I drank, so I thought I could sneak in and pick up the blueprints for the Victorian. I saw them in Charlie...’s study one time.”“Give me that key. Seems it’s slipped your mind that you don’t live here anymore.”He walked over and placed it in my outstretched palm.“You smell like a wet hog, by the way.” I waved my hand in front of my face.“Huh?” He was focused on my T-shirt, which read, Let’s put the fun back in dysfunctional—a phrase that I realized might well have been Steven’s motto.“You stink, Steven. Have you taken to living in a ditch these days?”“Sorry, the truck needs Freon and it’s about ninety degrees outside.”“Do you happen to have a flashlight, by the way?MoreLess
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