I laughed. “Right, right. I can’t, though.” I looked at her. “I have a meeting.”
“After the meeting, goose,” Murphy coaxed, and we both stopped. She looked at me. “You’ve got to eat, Harper.”
I pondered Murphy’s invitation. I’d turned down her invites at least three times in the past week. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go for just a little while.
“Harper?” She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. “Hello in there? Curry? You know—smelly but delish?”
I smiled. “Okay, okay. After my meeting. Smelly curry.”
Murphy’s smile was wide and epic. “Brill! Well, chivvy along, love. Finish thy meeting, post-haste, and I’ll pick you up at the house at...?”
“Six,” I answered.
“See ya then!” Murphy grinned.
With a wave, I hurried to the meeting—for the bake sale—and again, I found myself having a difficult time concentrating on my tasks. Maybe it was because the information was nothing new to me; the bake sale was a standard Greek fundraiser and I’d done several already. It was to help fund the holiday Dash-n-Date, a conglomeration of the sororities. All—well, most anyway—were taking part in it. It was a formal event and each participating sorority house would host one course in a five-course meal. And, a date would accompany them. Gown and tux. It was quite the event. Over the last three years every sorority participated.
Maybe I couldn’t concentrate because for some strange reason, Kane McCarthy wouldn’t leave my thoughts. Ridiculous, really. I’d only seen him once. Well, twice if you counted the interaction with Brax. Still, he wouldn’t leave me…
Meanwhile, I’d keep my eyes peeled for a true blue bad boy to reform.
Murphy was waiting for me at the house when I pulled up. Black leggings, a big slouchy ivory-colored sweater and brown boots completed her casual, easy look. I smoothed my suit jacket and closed my car door.
“Chivvy along, chivvy along,” she coaxed, and then jumped behind the wheel of her white Land Rover. I shook my head, crossed the lot and climbed into the passenger side. The sun had dropped behind the horizon and darkness settled over campus as we maneuvered through the tree-lined streets and out of the main gate. I surprised myself, though, as my eyes searched every group, every solitary person walking along. Looking, I suppose, for him. Kane McCarthy. And I wasn’t even sure why.
Murphy filled our drive time by popping in her favorite CD mix, starting with one of her favorite British bands, The Proclaimers. It started with her number one favorite song of all time, I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles). She played it every single time she got into her vehicle. Every time. To be honest, I’d come to love the song almost as much as she did. We sang along until the song ended, then she restarted it. I smiled and shook my head.
The words burrowed into my thoughts. Imagine a man who would indeed do what the lyrics stated and walk a thousand miles to fall down at the door of the one he loved? Whether it was a father walking that many miles to his child, or a man to the woman he loved. Either was beyond rational thought, to me. A dream almost. Fantasy.
Karma was a small restaurant set in a copse of trees off the highway, just inside the Covington city limits. The building looked like quite a lot of the ones in rural Texas: rugged. Once a BBQ joint, Karma, now an Indian restaurant, had retained the rugged look. Wood sided with a new sign over the entrance, painted in tall red letters: KARMA. Murphy found a parking spot near the back and stopped the Rover. She grinned. “I bloody well love that song.”
I shook my head and fought a smile. “Yes. I know.”
“Well, come on then,” she said and leapt from the truck. “I’m famished.”
I followed Murphy to the entrance and we stepped inside. Busy for a Thursday, we were finally seated near the back at a small table at the window. I glanced out as I sat, into the darkened woods behind the restaurant.
“Warning: I’m so bloody hungry I’m barking,” Murphy said, studying her menu. “Oh! I’m having vindaloo.” She winked and pointed at the menu. “It says right here that it’s enjoyed by pyromaniacs. I’ll be breathing fire for a fortnight. What about you?”
I scanned the menu. “Gobi saag.” It’d be less than five dollars with my student card.
Murphy blinked. “That’s it? A bit of spicy veggies?” She looked at me, her eyes soft. “One day I’m going to get you to my mum’s for some pot roast and Yorkshire puddings.” She grinned. “You’d eat yourself sick.” She closed her eyes. “Oh God, I want that now.”
I laughed softly. “It sounds wonderful. I’ll take you up on that sometime.”
We ordered and, as we waited for our food, Murphy leaned close. “I know I just asked you yesterday, but any prospects?”
I nodded. “Sort of.”
Murphy let out a squeak. “Oh! Do tell!”
“Well,” I started. I didn’t want to tell her everything Olivia had told me about Kane, so I left out the details regarding the numbers. “Brax Jenkins has a brother in town. From Boston. A foster brother. I think he’s here to do business with the Kappas.”
Murphy’s eyes widened. “What sort of business? Dodgy?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think, yes.”
Murphy stifled a squeal. “Tell me everything. Manky, and non-manky. Because this,” she wiggled her brows, “is juicy. And you know how I fancy juicy.”
“After the meeting, goose,” Murphy coaxed, and we both stopped. She looked at me. “You’ve got to eat, Harper.”
I pondered Murphy’s invitation. I’d turned down her invites at least three times in the past week. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go for just a little while.
“Harper?” She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. “Hello in there? Curry? You know—smelly but delish?”
I smiled. “Okay, okay. After my meeting. Smelly curry.”
Murphy’s smile was wide and epic. “Brill! Well, chivvy along, love. Finish thy meeting, post-haste, and I’ll pick you up at the house at...?”
“Six,” I answered.
“See ya then!” Murphy grinned.
With a wave, I hurried to the meeting—for the bake sale—and again, I found myself having a difficult time concentrating on my tasks. Maybe it was because the information was nothing new to me; the bake sale was a standard Greek fundraiser and I’d done several already. It was to help fund the holiday Dash-n-Date, a conglomeration of the sororities. All—well, most anyway—were taking part in it. It was a formal event and each participating sorority house would host one course in a five-course meal. And, a date would accompany them. Gown and tux. It was quite the event. Over the last three years every sorority participated.
Maybe I couldn’t concentrate because for some strange reason, Kane McCarthy wouldn’t leave my thoughts. Ridiculous, really. I’d only seen him once. Well, twice if you counted the interaction with Brax. Still, he wouldn’t leave me…
Meanwhile, I’d keep my eyes peeled for a true blue bad boy to reform.
Murphy was waiting for me at the house when I pulled up. Black leggings, a big slouchy ivory-colored sweater and brown boots completed her casual, easy look. I smoothed my suit jacket and closed my car door.
“Chivvy along, chivvy along,” she coaxed, and then jumped behind the wheel of her white Land Rover. I shook my head, crossed the lot and climbed into the passenger side. The sun had dropped behind the horizon and darkness settled over campus as we maneuvered through the tree-lined streets and out of the main gate. I surprised myself, though, as my eyes searched every group, every solitary person walking along. Looking, I suppose, for him. Kane McCarthy. And I wasn’t even sure why.
Murphy filled our drive time by popping in her favorite CD mix, starting with one of her favorite British bands, The Proclaimers. It started with her number one favorite song of all time, I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles). She played it every single time she got into her vehicle. Every time. To be honest, I’d come to love the song almost as much as she did. We sang along until the song ended, then she restarted it. I smiled and shook my head.
The words burrowed into my thoughts. Imagine a man who would indeed do what the lyrics stated and walk a thousand miles to fall down at the door of the one he loved? Whether it was a father walking that many miles to his child, or a man to the woman he loved. Either was beyond rational thought, to me. A dream almost. Fantasy.
Karma was a small restaurant set in a copse of trees off the highway, just inside the Covington city limits. The building looked like quite a lot of the ones in rural Texas: rugged. Once a BBQ joint, Karma, now an Indian restaurant, had retained the rugged look. Wood sided with a new sign over the entrance, painted in tall red letters: KARMA. Murphy found a parking spot near the back and stopped the Rover. She grinned. “I bloody well love that song.”
I shook my head and fought a smile. “Yes. I know.”
“Well, come on then,” she said and leapt from the truck. “I’m famished.”
I followed Murphy to the entrance and we stepped inside. Busy for a Thursday, we were finally seated near the back at a small table at the window. I glanced out as I sat, into the darkened woods behind the restaurant.
“Warning: I’m so bloody hungry I’m barking,” Murphy said, studying her menu. “Oh! I’m having vindaloo.” She winked and pointed at the menu. “It says right here that it’s enjoyed by pyromaniacs. I’ll be breathing fire for a fortnight. What about you?”
I scanned the menu. “Gobi saag.” It’d be less than five dollars with my student card.
Murphy blinked. “That’s it? A bit of spicy veggies?” She looked at me, her eyes soft. “One day I’m going to get you to my mum’s for some pot roast and Yorkshire puddings.” She grinned. “You’d eat yourself sick.” She closed her eyes. “Oh God, I want that now.”
I laughed softly. “It sounds wonderful. I’ll take you up on that sometime.”
We ordered and, as we waited for our food, Murphy leaned close. “I know I just asked you yesterday, but any prospects?”
I nodded. “Sort of.”
Murphy let out a squeak. “Oh! Do tell!”
“Well,” I started. I didn’t want to tell her everything Olivia had told me about Kane, so I left out the details regarding the numbers. “Brax Jenkins has a brother in town. From Boston. A foster brother. I think he’s here to do business with the Kappas.”
Murphy’s eyes widened. “What sort of business? Dodgy?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think, yes.”
Murphy stifled a squeal. “Tell me everything. Manky, and non-manky. Because this,” she wiggled her brows, “is juicy. And you know how I fancy juicy.”
