When Harlow said they were similar, Adelaide took it as a compliment, dimple flashing in a grin. She didn't often connect with people right off the bat, but when she did they were generally not your more mainstream people. That normalcy, that feeling of fitting in a niche in straight-laced society confused the hell out of the girl who'd been raised by her criminal-turned-murderer brother, in a piece of shit trailer with no idea of parents or the usual structure of life. It generally seemed to her like there was some code that those people knew and lived by that Adelaide just didn't know. The Montgomery kids had their own code.
Harlow was one of those people that fit right in with Adelaide's way of working through the world, though. He didn't give a shit about the rules, and he didn't give a shit if she didn't know or follow them, either. The more she did it all her own damn way, really, the more he seemed to like her. It made Addie feel less fettered than she had in years. She admired him for doing whatever the hell he felt like doing, for throwing it into anyone's face who happened to be in his way. Addie likely never would have lived so blatantly in-your-face a life, but she beyond enjoyed watching the boy who did. She admired his style, the way he could talk to anyone and barge his way in anywhere. Even with all that, though, she saw more in Harlow than just a whirling dervish. The way he listened, the way he engaged - with her at least - hinted to the astute Adelaide of a person who cared fiercely, where he cared. Adelaide was used to that coming in unexpected packages, so perhaps that was why she could see it in Harlow where others maybe couldn't. Maybe it was also because she didn't have those blinders of picket fence normalcy and decency.
It didn't hurt that Adelaide could sense he'd taken an instant liking to her, either. Adelaide generally liked people who showed the good taste and discernment of liking her.
"I guess I don't need clothes," Adelaide conceded with a laugh. "But I like em a whole damn lot. My brother doesn't even bat an eye anymore when I show up with more suitcases than days in the week."
When he spoke of Cutter using that nickname, Adelaide couldn't help but grin. It was really so totally appropriate for him, and she knew exactly the look he'd get on his face if she ever used it on him. She smiled to herself at the thought, until she remembered how they'd separated on the roof that day and how they'd skirted around one another since then except when very drunk. She smothered those thoughts quickly. "I knew he'd be death threats pissed," Adelaide grinned. "And he's one who isn't just all talk. I'll have to let him know we're friends, maybe he'll go easy on you when he finds you. Or maybe not."
"This?" Adelaide said, glancing down at the glass in her right hand. "Pixie Stix. SoCo, amaretto, sweet and sour, grenadine, splash of sprite, and four million cherries," she reeled off. "I drink them for the sugar rush, and because they're damn delicious." She waved the other glass, set down by her left hand. "Captain and Coke to do the dirty work. But shh, don't tell my brother I drink anything but Wild Turkey. I'll be disowned."