Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

What did he mean by that? Did he already have something in mind, or was his computer brain still processing it?

For him, it was all about who had the upper hand. I would show him who had the upper hand. But first, I had to make him think I was following the rules.

Thinking about him made me hungry for food. And when I was hungry, I was grumpy.

Vlad said it would only take two weeks—three tops—for the parts to arrive and be installed before his motorcycle would be done. Then I’d be free.

Can’t wait! It was my mission in life now.

I turned the corner, spotting Tala’s house. It was an architectural beauty of stone and wood, with two tall pillars on the front porch.

It would’ve been better if it wasn’t painted the color of fresh salmon, and it could definitely go without the puke-green trim.

It needed flowers, I thought, pressing the doorbell. Colorful, fat blooms on the porch, a couple of rocking chairs, traditional lanterns in bronze on each side of the door, repaint it a gorgeous shade of white and soft gray for the trim, and voilà! Instant curb appeal.

“Kara, honey, come in.” Mrs. Bautista swiveled her wheelchair back as I stepped inside.

“These are for you, Mrs. B.” I handed her a box of her favorite donuts from the coffee shop, noting the dark circles under her eyes. Her black hair was pulled in a tight bun, accentuating the sharp angles of her thin face. Her clothes hung loosely on her body. “How are you feeling today?”

“My arm’s bothering me a little bit, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Tala’s in the kitchen.”

“Over here, pimp!” Tala called out.

“Tala didn’t give you a massage today, did she?” I asked Mrs. B. “That lazy ass. Let’s give you one in a few. Get the blood flowing a bit, huh?”

She looked haggard today. She patted my hand and smiled. “You spoil me every time you come here.”

My mother had left me, but a few women had taken her place.

Mrs. B was one of them.

“I do this for a living,” I said, referring to one of my many jobs.

I had just quit my full-time position at the nursing home because it conflicted with my class schedule, but I told my manager that I’d like to be kept on as part-time. I also picked up shifts at a hospital if they phoned, which wasn’t often. Full-time positions were limited, so it wasn’t unusual for a healthcare worker to work in more than one institution.

“I got mad skills. Mad massaging skills.”

I pushed Mrs. B’s wheelchair to the kitchen, appreciating the delicious scent of Filipino food. Tala was at the stove, transferring food from a pot to a big bowl.

“Ma made pancit.”

Due to an accident, Mrs. B had lost both her legs. She had full range of motion in her arms, but her left one bothered her quite a bit.

“Sit down, Kara. Tal, give her a plate.”

“I won’t say no. I’m starving.”

“I made a vegetarian version just for you. Tal, pack some food for her dad and brother before she leaves.”

“Why don’t we just give her the fridge?” Tala asked.

“Your pantry too.” I gestured my fork at Tala before taking a huge bite. Damn, this was good noodles.

“Want some rice with that?”

I looked at her plate, which was a mountain of noodles on top of rice.

I shook my head. “Man, aren’t you tired of rice? Even squirrels eat other shit”—I glanced at Mrs. B—“stuff, I meant stuff, Mrs. B—aside from acorns.”