O’Shea
“It’s got to be the dumbest question you’ve ever asked us,” Delia threw the avocado toast she was examining back onto the plate. “Why do we even have to answer these question?”
“We’re getting to know each other,” I rubbed my temples and wished there was something more substantial than avocado fucking toast for me to eat. Delia was hardest to deal with on an empty stomach.
“I know you bitches already,” Delia said.
I rolled my eyes, let the smile peek through. “Fine, bitch. Tell us: looks or brains.”
Delia’s hands lay flat on the table. Thin, long. Even the nails. I would tease her about that later. How a woman so small could have such long, creepy hands and nail beds that seemed to go on forever. “Money.”
A quick breath in. A quick one. And we all burst into laughter.
She did know us.
