WAITED IN THE ENTRY to her apartment building. Why was she not surprised?
“You!” Marching up to him, she whapped him good on the arm with her leather shoulder bag.
“Hey!” He rubbed his arm. “What’s your problem?”
“I hate you—oops, that’s not a problem, actually. It’s a fact.”
“But—”
“Devin Oliver, I could kill you for what you’ve done to me this time!”
A bulky form hurtled the last ten or so steps down the stairs to the right of the entryway. “Hey, what’s going on? Is this guy bothering you, Sharlee?”
Brawny Bill Bolliver to the rescue, clad in a net tank top and biker shorts, muscles bulging in every direction.
“He certainly is bothering me,” she said angrily.
“Want me to hurt ’im?” Bill pounded one big fist into the other palm. Turning, he did a double take. “Howdy, Dev. What’s up?”
“She’s mad at me,” Dev said. “I don’t know why.”
“Liar.”
“I can throw him out if you want me to,” Bill said, frowning. “Sorry, Dev, but someone’s got to look out for Sharlee.”
“I understand perfectly.”
They turned to her for agreement. She longed to smack them both. Instead, she marched to the stairs leading to her second-floor apartment. “I don’t care what either one of you do. Excuse me, I’m going to go slit my wrists now. I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.”
She stomped angrily up the stairs.
Bill looked at Dev. “She was joking, right?”
“Right. I’ll go along to make sure, though.”
SHE ALMOST SUCCEEDED in slamming the door in Dev’s face, but like a door-to-door salesman, he managed to wedge a toe inside.
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