He grinned at her.“Touché.”
She didn’t grin back.
“Now…store?”he continued.
“I have a shop, about seven what I’ve recently discoveredare very long blocks from here.”
“A shop?”
“A shop.”
“What kind of shop?”
“Albums.Books.Home stuff.Gifts.Local artisan things.Shit I like.That’s why it’s called S.I.L.”
“Your shop is called Sil?”
“S.I.L.on the Hill.”
He’d heard of it.
He’d also heard it was fucking awesome.
But he wasn’t a shopper so he’d never been there.
“Okay, then,” he went on.“Lionel Richie koozie?”
“It has his picture and ‘Hello, is it me you’re lookingfor?’on it.”
Jag busted out laughing.
Yeah, he’d never been there, but it definitely sounded likeher shop was awesome.
“Jagger,” she called.
He pulled his shit together, doing this primarily because heliked how his name sounded in her mouth so much he couldn’t focus on anythingelse.
He gave her his gaze, but before she could say anything, heasked, “Group?”
“There’s folks in the ’hood, where I live, where my shop is,who can use a break.I give ’ema break.”
“What kind of break?”
She shifted, and her body language shifted with her.
She also vocalized this change.
“Jagger, you don’t get twenty questions.”
“I just chased a kid into an alley for you and got called apedo.Repeatedly.”
“I would have caught him.”
He shot her a look.
Then he vocalized that look.
“Babe, you weregoin’ down.Isaved you two hundred bucks.”
