“Okay, how about I make it interesting. Meet me tomorrow. Say right over there,” I point to the corner across from us in front of a bakery. “At nine in the morning and I’ll give you another sixty if you come and read the pamphlet.”
“Are you for real?” she asks, coming to a stop.
“Real,” I promise. “So? Deal?”
She nods. “But I get the cash before you start yapping.”
I smile. “Okay.”
She looks stunned and still a little skeptical. “I won’t sleep with you like ever. No matter how much money you give me. If you try to make me I will bite your—”
“Whoa now!” I do not want to hear the end of that sentence. “I swear to God I don’t want anything sexual from you. Or anything at all. I’ve just been in your shoes.”
“I still don’t believe that by the way,” she replies firmly. “No one goes from this to that.”
She points at me, her tiny finger sweeping up and down and then it does a flamboyant circle. I smile again. She’s something else. “Do you need a place to stay tonight?”
“No,” she replies. “Look I will read whatever you want for money, but I ain’t your pet project. So don’t go all fucking social worker on me.”
“Okay. Fine. I won’t.” I raise my hands as if surrendering. “Tomorrow. In front of the bakery. Nine.”
She nods. “Don’t follow me.”
I nod and watch her walk away. She keeps glancing over her shoulder until she crosses the street and disappears around a corner. I pull out my phone and take a picture of the storefront so I remember the name of it and then pull up Google maps to figure out where the fuck I am and how to get home.
I walk toward the closest subway station. She’s exactly why I volunteer at charities that help kids. I don’t do it for praise. I do it because if people hadn’t done it for me, I wouldn’t be where I am. Mac is the first street kid I’ve engaged this much though. I’ve often given them money and food or stuff like toothbrushes and clothes, but I tend to keep the interactions impersonal because I can’t get attached to these kids and they can’t get attached to me. At any point I could be traded. The last thing either of us needs is to be ripped away from each other.
But there was no way I was going to leave Mac there in that alley with that guy. It might be my downfall, if I get too involved and somehow let her down, but I have to try and help her.
Chapter 6
Alex
Iknock on the front door of Devin and Callie’s Park Slope brownstone, and Callie swings it open with a bright friendly smile. “Come in!”
“Sorry I’m early,” I say. “But I brought wine.”
She wipes her hands on her apron and grabs the bottle. “Thanks! Let’s get this puppy open.”
I follow her through the house to the kitchen at the back. She puts the bottle on the counter and opens a drawer, digging around for a corkscrew. I sit at one of the bar stools on the other side of the peninsula. “I haven’t had a drink in weeks. Not since Conner brought the stomach flu home from school. He got over it in a couple days, but I struggled for weeks.”
“Devin mentioned it. You’re better now?” I ask as she pulls out the corkscrew and reaches for the bottle again. I inhale deeply. Something smells delicious, like tomato and cheese.
She nods, a piece of her long brown hair coming loose from the ponytail she’s wearing. She tucks it behind her ear and begins to open the bottle. “Mostly.”
I take another long whiff of the delicious aroma filling the kitchen. “Dinner smells amazing.”
She sniffs. Pauses and sniffs again. “Really?”
I nod and her brow furrows for a second. How could she think it smells anything less than delicious? I look around the place, glancing into the dining room to the left and the archway to the family room on the right. There’s a train track set up in there and a bunch of toys on the floor. “Where’s Devin and the rug rat?”
“Dev is picking him up from hockey practice,” Callie explains. “They’ll be home soon.”
“Hockey practice,” I repeat and smile. “Another Garrison getting ready to make the league his bitch, huh?”
Callie laughs. “Devin sure hopes so. And Conner loves it. It’s all he talks about now.”
I feel a weird little sting, like a paper cut inside my chest. I am kind of jealous of what it must feel like to have a family. I haven’t felt that sting since I was a teenager and couch surfing, bouncing around between the homes of other guys on my hockey team because I’d run away from my foster home. I must look like I feel because Callie’s expression softens and grows curious. “You want to add another Larue to the league one day?”
