Rishi winces. “With music.”
“I know where Jackson parks his Audi.”
He lifts a brow. “You don’t say.”
10:32 PM –we’re standing in front of said Audi. It’s gleaming under the garage lights, pretentious as hell. Like its owner.
“I might want to commit a misdemeanor,” I mutter.
“I’m not saying we key it,” Rishi says. “But if someonewereto draw a very accurate micropenis on the hood… I wouldn’t stop them.”
Rishi pulls a travel-sized tube of sunscreen from his jacket pocket.
I hesitate. “Why do you have sunscreen on you?”
Rishi shrugs. “You never know when emotional vengeance and UV protection will collide. It’s SPF 30. Messy, but non-permanent. Like your last relationship.”
Ten minutes later, Jackson’s car is sporting the worst rendition of manhood imaginable in bright white cream.
Security yells in the distance.
We run.
11:30 PM –we’re posted up at the edge of a rooftop bar in Hell’s Kitchen, sweating out adrenaline and sunscreen crime, city lights bleeding around us.
I swirl the last inch of my drink, throat raw from too much soju and not enough answers. Rishi leans against the railing, scanning the crowd.
He nudges me. “Feel better?”
“Not even close.”
“But slightly less homicidal?”
I consider. “Yeah. Slightly.”
He claps me on the back. “That’s progress.”
I grunt.
“Yo,” he says, tipping his chin. “Is that…?”
I follow his gaze.
White tank. Pointy heels. Black hair draped over one slim shoulder. She’s laughing with two friends—one, a woman with a slick,straight blonde bob, and the other, a guy I don’t know, but I hate his shirt.
The tank she’s wearing is doing unspeakably excellent things for her boobs. Even the bartender’s pretending not to look.
“That chick was at Vanguard today. From the Laurel Group. What was her name?” He thinks it over, then snaps his fingers. “Rorie Adams.”
The name clicks. The posture. The laugh. That spark in her eyes I saw at Stanfield some months ago is now full of fire as she sits there in heels and confidence.
“What are the odds?” Rishi asks.
“Shit,” I say under my breath. “I’ve seen her before.”
“What?” Rishi asks, tracking my face. “You know her?”
“No,” I say slowly. “But… yeah. I mean, I ran into her once.”
