“?at’s what you said last week,” she argues.
“Julie, come on.” He runs a hand down her arm, stroking a dreadlock with the tips of his ngers. “Julie, Julie, Julie.”
She sighs. “I’ll make a call and text you. Might be a couple of hours.”
Satis ed, he turns back around and seems to notice me for the
rst time. “Hi there.”
I don’t reply, but I can feel him looking me over while I accept my change. I quickly shove it into my wallet, and then grab the bag with my scarf and head down the narrow aisle toward the door. I just want to get out of here, like, yesterday.
But I’m not fast enough. Footfalls dog my heels.
“Whatcha buyin’?” I feel a tug on my bag and turn around to see Davy pulling the scarf out. “Are you a cowgirl or a gangbanger?”
I snatch the scarf out of his hand. “Neither.”
His companion snickers behind him.
“Whoa, now. Just curious,” Davy says. “Haven’t seen you around. What’s your name?”
“I don’t think so.”
“O-oh, burn,” the burly guy murmurs.
“Come on, cowgirl,” Davy says. “Don’t be that way.”
I can’t get through the door fast enough. Too fast. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I slam straight into another human being. ?e real Artful Dodger would be so disappointed in my slipshod getaway skills. My cheek smacks against a breastbone made of steel. I jerk back, overcorrecting, and nearly lose my balance. Hands grip my forearms.
I’m staring at a Quiksilver Surfboards logo. I crack my jaw and raise my line of sight. Now I’m staring at the angry face of Porter Roth.
“For the love of rocks,” I mumble.
?e hard lines around his eyes soften when he sees me. Just slightly. ?en he looks above my head and gets pissed again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” He’s not talking to me. ?at’s when I realize he’s not angry at me either; he’s angry at the person standing behind me.
“Who are you, my mom?” Davy’s raspy voice answers. “Relax, man. Ray and I were just grabbing something to eat then heading to Capo’s place.”
Porter’s hands are still gripping my arms. I can’t tell if he’s holding me up or trying to keep me away from Davy. But standing so close, he smells strongly of coconut oil and wax— which smells pretty freaking good, frankly. And while I’m busy being intoxicated, he’s still drilling Davy. “You mean to tell me that I didn’t just see you walking out of Déjà Vu?”
I turn my head to see Davy backpedaling. “Julie asked us to come inside. It was nothing. We were just chatting about Capo’s new dog. Get your panties unbunched.”
Umm, he’s lying. But there’s enough testosterone ying through the air to start a war, no way am I tattling on Davy. And what do I care? Not my business. I just want to get out of here and go to work. And why is Porter still holding on to me? He seems to nally notice this too, and at the same time I shake him loose, he lets go of me and holds his hands back like I’m radioactive.
“And what are you doing here?” he asks me.
“Buying a scarf,” I say, moving away from him. Why is he always in my personal space?
“You two know each other?” Davy asks, absently rubbing his right leg. Looks like that’s the injured one—the cause of the limp.
“We work together.” Porter eyes Davy, and then my bag, like he doesn’t believe either one of us. I’m insulted to be lumped in with this loser.
“Small world,” Davy says, grinning. “You gonna tell me your name now, cowgirl?”
“Seems to me you’re going to call me whatever you want, so what’s the point?”
“Damn, girl.” He hikes up his shorts. “Is she this mean to you at work?” he asks Porter.
Porter slides a glance down at me. I dare him with my eyes to say something smart. Go on, buddy. Show off. Tell him how you riled me up, acting like a pig, called me a snob, and I almost got myself red. Make yourself look tough in front of your dirtbag friend.
