My brother and I walk out, and we hug long. He then sees my ride and that it’s a new black Mustang. Protectively, he leans down to check Harry out. Harry is wearing a suit, as always, and he looks like the CEO he is.
“Hi,” Harry says as I watch them interact, unsure.
“How are the drug sales going?” my brother asks, his brow up.
Dear God.
Harry laughs loudly. “Better than expected. Who would have known?”
“He’s kidding,” I say. “He sells?—”
“Things people don’t need,” Harry says calmly.
“What?” my brother asks, confused.
“Media… Movies and advertising,” I say. “Harry finances media projects. He’s a CEO, and just a friend.”
My protective brother checks Harry out, and then he does the ‘I’m watching you’ hand sign.
Harry tries not to smile, but he does. “I like your style, kid!”
My cool, young brother flips him the bird, and places his sunglasses on. He then heads off on his bike.
“Love you!” I say, leaping in.
“A good kid,” Harry says before powering us away confidently.
“He is,” I agree.
“You’re lucky to have him. Protect him with your life,” Harry says, deadly serious.
I look over, and Harry winds his window down.
“I don’t mind it here. There’s an energy to the city.”
“Sure,” I say. “And traffic. Crime. Chaos. And… weird exes.”
We exchange a look, and Harry adjusts his old Ray-Bans. He looks serious, and he looks protective. In his suit, he looks like a crime boss. A mafia crime boss from NYC.
So f-ing hot.
As we pullup outside my embarrassing old apartment in LA, I ask Harry to wait. He looks like his radar has been turned on, but it may have been because of the gangbanger type who just drove by slowly.
Falling for a hot bad boy type in LA, what the actual fuck. Loaning money to the loser ex was also a huge mistake, and I learned the hard way.
As I step out of the Mustang, I try to do a casual yet fast three-sixty of the area.
I head quickly into the average, small apartment building, then I walk through and down the inside. I find our back door and then the garage side door.
As I pause outside again, I look in all directions. On the street, I see Harry, but Harry is now outside the car. He is removing his tie and jacket, and he places them in the back.
He rolls up his sleeves, leaning against the black Mustang as if ready for trouble.
“Oh boy,” I mumble, keying the rusty lock.
Ten minutes later, I carry all I need, and fast. Cutting quickly around the side of the suspect building, I head across the small, nasty lawn.
I am about to drop the lot when a loud voice yells, “Hey!”
