“Um, do you need my address?”I ask, fumbling with the seat belt.
He glances at me, that half-lidded gaze flicking up like I’ve just asked him if water is wet.
And then he rattles it off.
My full address.Street name.Apartment number.Even the zip code.
Oh.Okay, then.
I blink.“Right.”
“I’m supposed to know that stuff, Angel.”
Angel?
I pretend I don’t hear it.
Probably just a habit.A throwaway nickname he uses for everyone.
Definitely not something I should read into.
“What else did your, uh, file say about me?”I ask, trying to sound casual, even though my pulse ticks up a notch.
“Sabrina Rosetto.Thirty-four.Single.Parents deceased in a tragic automobile accident—sorry for your loss.One brother.His last known address was in Philly.Kindergarten teacher at Our Lady of Grace for three years, promoted from assistant.Graduated Rutgers with honors.Clean record.No priors, no substance history.One long-term relationship that ended after he cheated on you with his coworker—she dumped him two months later, by the way.”
My mouth drops open.“She did?Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“Well.I guess karma still works.”
He nods, like this is just a normal Tuesday conversation.
“You were lucky to get out of that one.Guy was a creep.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Okay, Mr.Human Dossier.You clearly know everything about me.That’s not exactly fair—I don’t know a thing about you.”
“You know my name.”
“Do I, though?”I ask, turning a little in my seat.“What do I even call you?Theodore?Teddy?Ego?Mr.Montego?Or should I just stick with ‘Hey, you with the terrifying shoulders’?”
He actually smiles at that—just a flicker, but it’s there.“My peers call me Ego.”
“Why?”
A pause.Then, “Short for my last name.”
“Must be more to the story.”
He shrugs.“Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”
Something about the way he says that—like it’s a promise—makes my stomach flutter and causes my girly bits to perk up.
Down, girl.
“But if you want,” he adds, voice lower now, “you can call me Theo.”
