My mouth drops open. “Baby bird?”
“Yeah, like, chew it up and feed it to him until he can do it on his own.”
I… What? I look to Omar as the voice of reason, but he’s nodding along.
“Yes. Baby bird him for us, and we’ll forgive the bugging.”
Jesus, hell. Fuck my life.
13
RAMI
Silas,Cupcake, and I are hanging out by the pool while Oakley swims his laps, and I’m showing Sy my notes on Operation Hot Barber Stakeout.
“So, whaddya think of my work so far?”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to keep following him?” Sy asks, concern visible in his expression despite wearing the darkest glasses I’ve ever seen.
I press my tablet against my chest. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”
“I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously,” Sy says, shifting as Oakley passes us. “And it sounds like you’ve had a few close calls. Which is probably why they brought Hopper down here for that ridiculous refresher course.”
“You know my dads, Sy. Ever vigilant, or whatever. Besides, I’m getting better,” I insist. “I’m telling you—I have a knack for it. And hey, maybe it’s a transferable skill.”
I’m definitely way more observant. For instance, Sy must be terrified of water because A: I’ve never seen him swim, and B: despite the sunglasses, I can tell he hasn’t taken his eyes offOakley this entire time. Like maybe Oak will drown if Sy sets aside his vigilance for even half a second.
Adorable.
“Didn’t you tell me you almost got busted by Truett when your dads showed up at the same coffee shop?” Sy pauses. “And isn’t it weird that they showed up at a shop they’ve never been to?”
“Oh my God, you are so paranoid. It’s like I told you—I cut short the convo with the dads and slid out of there like I’ve been doing this my whole life. Truett was facing the other way the whole time. He was none the wiser.”
“And you’re sure he hasn’t seen you?”
“No, man. I’m telling you—I’m really good at this.”
It’s true. I wouldn’t have pegged Truett as a routine guy, but it was surprisingly easy to identify that he steps outside every morning at six-oh-five on the dot, jogging the same route day after day.
His workout gear, however, is atrocious. Like, I understand wanting to be safe on the road, but why does he wear such loud colors to go on a jog? Yesterday morning, he was wearing a tank so pink I couldn’t have lost him if I’d wanted to.
Also, muscular, inked calves turn me on, apparently.
It is a little harder to follow him once he’s in his regular clothes, but he’s started posting his favorite lunch spots around town, which is helpful. That reminds me, I’ve been letting my social media lag. I take a quick selfie, careful to crop out Sy and Cupcake, then post it. #poollife #halfiraqi #fullhottie
The likes and comments start pouring in, and a few uncomfy truths bubble up. Refocusing on Sy, I admit, “I’mmostlygood at this.”
“Why mostly? Did you get hemmed up somewhere?” Silas asks, leaning forward.
I love that my cousin is ready to jump in at a moment’s notice, but I kinda like figuring this out on my own.
“It’s just… I still struggle at night.” I make a face. “Honestly, I get a little scared.”
“Of the dark?”
“No.”Yes. “It’s just statistically more dangerous at night.”
“Not if you’re armed,” he says mildly.
