Free Suspiciously Obedient by Julia Kent Page B

Mike.”
    “Thanks. I've been doing lunges and thought no one noticed,” Mike said sourly.
    Pointing to the television, Jeremy said, “No, I meant—”
    One glare was all it took. Jeremy slumped down and shut up. Good.
    “What a mess,” Mike hissed, disgusted with himself for letting this happen. “Could this get any worse?” His stomach growled. When had he eaten last? The aroma of oregano and something cheesy filled his nostrils. “Are you cooking something?” he asked Jeremy, agog at the thought. Jeremy's idea of a kitchen utensil was his phone.
    “I ordered pizza an hour ago, Mike. It’s in the oven on warm,” was the answer, Jeremy's eyes glued to the television. Mike grabbed a few slices of pepperoni pizza from the oven, snagged a Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout from the fridge, and plopped down on the couch, munching away.
    “Can we watch anything but this?”
    Jeremy flipped to QVC.
    “Okay, anything but this and Lydia's ass?”
    Tossing the remote after turning the box off, Jeremy stole a slice off Mike’s plate and wolfed it down in three folded bites.
    “Jesus, do you ever use your teeth to chew?”
    “It all digests the same.”
    Bzzzzz. Smart phone in hand, Jeremy tapped a few times. When his jaw dropped, Mike groaned. “What now?”
    Volleying his head back and forth between Mike and the television, Jeremy finally just shoved his phone at Mike, wincing as he stretched his arm out. “Don’t kill the messenger.”
    It was Diane. Rather, a video of Diane on national cable news. “What the hell is she—”
    “And so Mike asked me to be part of his reality television series, so I came to talk about the script in his office, and one thing led to another…” Hair flip. Attempt at a sensual smile. Fail as her over-plump lips made her look like a corpse with a pork chop trying to escape her mouth.
    “There you have it, folks,” said the anchor. “Michael Bournham's viral sex-tape partner has been exposed. Meet the Hidden Boss? Not anymore. They should call the show ‘Meet the Hidden Sexpot.’”
    A spray of beer and half-chewed pizza flew across the room, narrowly missing his arm. “Sexpot? Sexpot? Diane? More like cesspool!” Jeremy shouted.
    A sense of relief flooded Mike’s body, extending out to his limbs. Deep breaths helped to restore a little more of his core, that unwavering sense of self that he'd become so detached from these past few years. Lydia was off the hook. Diane—in her weird, self-centered, hyper-affected way— was grabbing the perfect fifteen minutes of fame.
    Which saved Lydia from humiliation and the nightmare of a very hungry, very determined press.
    He still had the Matt Jones rental, with the GPS within, containing Lydia's address from last night. Not that he needed it—driving past her apartment ten or so times since the media shitstorm hit had branded it in his brain. Tracking her down and trying to explain this mess wouldn’t be hard. Surprising Jeremy, he ran out the door, keys in hand, and was barreling down the stairs before his friend could shout his name.
    So much of this was out of his control.
    Trying , though, wasn’t.

    Some cranky old lady, who looked like the last time she wore lipstick was during the Eisenhower administration, answered the door. “Funny,” she said, “you look very different in the video.” Madge. He'd forgotten, in the frenzy surrounding the video, that she was Lydia's grandmother.
    She may as well have spat the words in his face, the wave of revulsion and self-incrimination that hit him worse than any saliva that she could have hocked. Leaving the door open, she turned away and stomped down a hallway. He assumed that meant that he could enter. The apartment was quite nice, simple, but nice, with a homey decor that spoke to a longer history of the family living in the Midwest. Maybe the old woman had moved here for reasons unknown. Hell, maybe she was part of the original settlers from the Mayflower, given her