“You’re right. You’re more likely going to rob the soup kitchen.”
He barked out a laugh, and I knew that laugh would’ve gotten anyone’s attention that wasn’t already turned our way. It was commonplace growing up with Creighton Lane beside me. Stalking me. Prowling behind me. Leading the charge. Or doing what he was doing now, laughing with me and acting like the world didn’t exist outside of us.
I used to love days like this.
Until I remembered the bodies. My smile faded.
“I’d never rob a soup kitchen.” He saw the myriad of thoughts cross my face. “You’d never have that. A saint would tell you what I’d be up to. Before I’d even be able to leave with whatever little money they had, you’d be marching your way in and ordering me to put it back and then you’d make me write a check for triple what I tried to steal.” He lifted up an eyebrow. “That sound right?”
“It did except for the saint part. If I could talk to saints, I would’ve told my social worker to skip Miss Marcie’s house.” I couldn’t help myself, knowing that was meant to hurt him.
Did it? I watched him for any reaction.
He got quiet, and the small curve from his lip slowly lowered down. Those blank eyes stayed blank.
He murmured, “Point to Blake.”
That stung, a little, so I looked away. “I’m going to the foster center.”
“Mind if I walk you there?”
Some of the sting lifted. He sounded genuine, and I found myself nodding. “Sure.”
He slid down in the seat, getting comfortable, and reached for my hand. My chest lifted and held still. My heart flipped over, and for a moment, one moment, I blinked back tears because I wanted this with him. A train ride. Him to be a regular guy. I was just a girl, traveling with her boyfriend, and he was holding her hand because we got to indulge in this very normal public display of affection.
I blinked away a tear and pushed aside that nagging voice to remember why I ran from him in the beginning because he was there, still behind my heart, and my fight was fading more and more.
I just didn’t want to hear it.
Lassiter found me when I was working a shift at Octavia that night. He slid onto a barstool, saying, “You spent the day with him.”
“Not technically, but a part of it. Yeah.” I frowned at him, wondering why he was here and why he was bringing this up.
My coworker began to go to him. I waved him off. “I got him. I know the little shit.”
Lassiter grinned, but it fell away right away. He wasn’t a drinker, so I filled a glass of water and put it in front of him.
He didn’t reach for it. “He called you his woman the other week.”
His woman?
I shrugged, not wanting to focus on what he said. “Everyone knows I’m one of his.”
He leaned farther over the counter, crossing his arms. “Not his woman, not like that. That’s new. That changes things. Is that what’s going on?”
I frowned, unease skittering down my spine. “I came here to get away from him. You know that ...” Movement caught my eye. Spence was heading our way, watching us. Or, correction, watching Lassiter.
Lassiter noticed him and sat back on his stool. “He’s here for me.”
I frowned. “He’s my boss.”
Lassiter shook his head. “He’s here for me.”
As Spence closed the distance, coming to the end of my counter with two security guards behind him, Lassiter spoke first, almost blandly. “I have no weapons on me. Your bouncers know this.”
“You’re distracting my employee.”
My skin grew hot because he was right. I should be working, not talking about Creighton. Moving aside, I began filling drink orders. We got hit by a rush, and by the time I got some semblance of a break, I glanced around, but Lassiter was gone.
