Good Girl (Alphahole Roommates 2)

“Anything.”

I smile. That feels nice.

“I don’t know who all my dad hung out with so do you have any idea where I can find his classic car buddies?”

“I’ve already spoken to a few of them,” the Santa lookalike who’d been at my father’s house the other night says.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” I ask.

“Call me Doc.” He has kind eyes.

He holds his hand out and I shake it.

Austin then extends his. “Austin.”

“Nice to meet you, Austin.”

“Frank,” the bartender holds his hand out and we both shake.

“I’ll make sure to get all his friends to the service,” Doc says. “And Frank here will make sure there’s a spread for everyone to come back to. I’ll make my famous chili. Your father loved it.”

“Private party that day. In honor of Rich,” Frank says.

“Thank you so much,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Your pop had a lot of friends here. He’ll be missed,” Frank says. “You talk to his job?”

I nod. “Yes, they said they wanted to send flowers.”

“I’m sure we’ll have a fair few from there stop by, too. I’ll close that afternoon, make sure there’s plenty of room.”

“I’m not sure how many will come.”

“I’ll close down,” Frank says. “Can I get you both a drink? On the house.”

“Thank you, but we need to go. I appreciate this. I appreciate it more than I can express right now.”

“No need to worry about words, darlin’. We know. We know how sweet you are and how much you loved your father. He knew it, too. Me and a coupla the guys’ll wanna get up and say a few words about him if that’s okay with you,” Doc says.

“Eulogy? Oh. Of course. I’d appreciate that.” I try to mask my reaction to the words he’s just said because it feels like he’s talking about someone else.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sad smile.

This man looks like he really will miss my father.

“Here’s my number.” Austin hands over a business card to Frank and another to Doc. “Call if you need any information or to talk about the plan for after the service. Otherwise, we’ll see you at the service. And thank you both.”

***

I need a dress. And shoes.

I have a black dress that’ll suffice and most of my dressy shoes are in storage, so I ask Austin if we can stop by there.

We run in and grab two boxes of clothes. Luckily, I’d been organized in my packing, so I knew just where to find them.

“Shit,” I mutter, getting back into the car.

Austin’s eyes bounce to me with a question in his eyes.

“My brother needs a suit for the funeral. I have to get that over.”

“I’ve already sent him one.”

“You did?”

He nods. “Tamara called and asked about that. When all this is over, we can run his clothes over too. I saw a couple boxes marked Shane. I sent some clothes when he was first moved.”

“You did?”

He nods. “He told them his sizes, so I just ordered some basics.”

“Thank you for doing that,” I whisper.

“My pleasure.”

I blink.

“I’ll pay you back.”

I don’t know what I’d do without him right now.

Well, I’d muddle through, I’m sure, but it would suck even worse than it already sucks.

He glares at me and then looks straight ahead as he starts the car.

“I didn’t mean to upset you by saying that,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. But let’s let that be the first and last time you offer to give me money for something that I did for you. Okay?”

I swallow. And then I reach over and grab his thigh with my hand and squeeze.

This is the first time, other than the last few nights sleeping with him that I’ve made an affectionate move. He’s been the one dropping kisses on my forehead, touching me every time we pass one another in the apartment, the one pulling me close and he hasn’t tried to get sexual at all.

His warm hand comes down on mine and stays there while he drives us back to Manhattan.

57

Jada

Shane, his doctor, and their police escort (dressed in plain clothes) are already there when we arrive at the funeral home.

Shane and I get a moment alone in the chapel with the door closed, Austin, Dr. Lexington, and the officer standing outside of it before the service starts.

We sit down and hold hands in the front pew, looking at the 10 x 12 framed photo up front of Dad with his car. His simple black urn sits beside it with flower arrangements on either side. One from his work, one from the bar.

Shane looks good. He still looks thin and he looks tired, but he looks better and he’s lucid and talking to me, so I take it as a good sign. He’s shaved and has had a haircut and Austin sent him a very nice dark suit and dress shoes.