Michelle stared at the rows of tombstones. “So just to be clear. Every formative milestone in your life happened on top of a corpse?”
“Not every milestone. I learned to ride a bike in the Kmart parking lot.”
She shook her head, bemused. “You’re weird.”
“And you’re dangerously beautiful,” I said, laying it on thick… but meaning it.
Michelle blinked slowly, like the words had caught her off guard. Which made no sense. The girl from the gas station had confidence to burn and looks to match. Compliments had to chase her down daily.
“Thank you,” she said, fiddling with the clasp at her neck.
That gave me my first close-up of the choker—a whole row of blue gemstones circled in diamonds, sparkling under the streetlight.
“That’s not real, is it?”
She stared at me, like the question itself made no sense. “Of course it is.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Probably worth more than my truck.”
Her raised brows suggested I’d undershot the estimate.
“You didn’t specify a dress code,” she said.
“It’s a metal concert—in a gangland warzone. The dress code is implied. And for the record, I wasn’t expecting you to show up looking like… this.”
“I came straight from the charity event,” she said. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me. I’m a big fan of this look. It’s just… our VIP list isn’t exactly upper crust.”
“Oh, no.” She smirked. “Are you telling me Brooke Astor didn’t RSVP?”
“I don’t know who that is, but I can promise you Brooke’s not here. Our VIPs tonight are two parolees, one guy who might be a cult leader, and Rat—three teeth, no shirt.”
Her brows lifted as the reality check landed.
“I’m just saying… I wouldn’t leave your neck unattended.”
Michelle said nothing, probably calculating her exit strategy. I half-expected her to bolt. Instead, she doubled down. “Anything else I should know?”
I gestured toward the boarded-up husk behind me, the crumbled awning piled in a heap next to the front door. “You’re going in there. Keep your hands to yourself, and for the love of god, don’t touch anything that looks wet.”
Her eyes widened. “What if everything looks wet?”
“Then I suggest hopping. Everywhere.”
She was scandalized.
I held up my hands. “Kidding. Mostly. You’ll be fine. Just… don’t lick anything.”
“Oh, well, that won’t be a problem,” Michelle said.
“Not a licker, huh?”
“Obviously not. I have manners.”
“Wait. Licking is bad manners?”
She gave me a look like I was severely challenged. “What do you think?”
