From: [email protected]
Subject: What budget?
Hey Marie,
You know I don’t do budgets. Just don’t pay the asking price right off the bat because I don’t want the seller getting suspicious. Haggle a bit. I trust your judgment.
D
That should take care of the matter. All civilized.
My phone pings with a text.
–Marie: How quickly do you need to move in? Furnishing req?
Hmm. Becca said the marriage ends when she gets the house or it’s been a year since we married, whichever comes first.
But I can’t end it this soon. I still haven’t figured out why my dick’s acting weird.
Plus, Becca didn’t say anything about needing to move in fast. And she said the house has sat empty for a while, which means it’s going to need some work. So contractors can work on the house while I sort out my issues. And as soon as they’re resolved, I can give her the place. Voilà!
–Me: Not immediately, and no furnishings. The place is going to need some work first. I want it all nice and pretty without tearing everything out. It’s Max and my wife’s childhood home. It’s got some important memories, KWIM?
–Marie: I do. I’ll take care of it.
–Me: And have the seller sign an NDA. Make sure she can’t tell anybody about the sale, or she’ll face some steep financial penalty.
If Becca realizes the house isn’t her grandmother’s to give away, she might just kick me out, since she won’t need me anymore. The chances of that happening would usually be zero, but Becca isn’t like the other women I’ve known.
–Marie: I can handle that. It isn’t my first rodeo with NDAs.
–Me: I knew I could count on you.
–Marie: YWIMC. ;-)
I smile with satisfaction. Marie’s good at her job. She’ll take care of it, and I’ll have the house free from Margaret’s clutches. Then I can figure out what’s wrong with my penis and everything’ll get back to normal.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Devlin
The Tex-Mex place Becca directs us to is named Rod’s Tacos. Rod turns out to be short for Rodriquez, which is the surname of the couple who started the restaurant. It’s the only Tex-Mex in town, and there’s a line outside. But then, it’s got a monopoly in Drover. I hope it’s good. I’ve been spoiled since moving to Dallas, which has fabulous Tex-Mex.
Rod’s is located in a squat structure with a lower-than-average ceiling. But the square footage is enough that it doesn’t feel claustrophobic inside. Just cozy.
The place smells like spices and oil and cooked meat and veggies. Becca and I are led to a booth in the back. Apparently, Becca’s friend is already here.
A woman with flowing blue hair and glasses with heart-shaped lenses waves. “Becca!” She gives us a huge grin and stands up.
Becca hugs her friend. “Tasha.” Once they disentangle themselves, Becca gestures at me. “This is my husband, Devlin.”
“Hi,” I say, extending a hand.
She shakes it. “Tasha. Nice to meet you.”
Her smile’s friendly enough, and her voice is smooth. But something says she doesn’t exactly approve of me.