“You’re not talking to them without me,” I declare.
I do not want to talk to criminals. I’ll probably do something stupid or accidentally spill their whereabouts to an undercover cop at the coffeeshop or something else ridiculous. But I also don’t want Griffin cleaning up this mess himself. I have some pride.
Plus, I don’t trust him. He hates me, and while he’s been hot and cold today, I don’t know that he’ll truly do everything to get my ring back. He might say he tried but actually spend the evening chilling on his sofa, watching old hockey games and laughing at the fast one he’s pulling over on bratty, bitchy me.
He sighs like I’m the one that screwed up his day and not the other way around but relents. “Fine. I won’t talk to them without you. I’ll pick you up at ten in the morning? We can hit A-to-Z Pawn first.”
I’m not sure about this course of action, but it would be sort of nice to have Griffin at my side if I’m going into sketchy pawnshops and talking to people who probably won’t want to discuss their illegal business model with me. I mean, not Griffin specifically. Any huge, threatening asshole who’s willing to throw hands would do. Most people wouldn’t have a lot of options that’d meet those criteria, but I do. Several, in fact. Notably my brother. But I don’t even consider calling him and telling him what’s happened.
Mostly because I don’t want to hear another one of his lectures about how I make poor decisions and am too impulsive. Usually, I can tune him out and pretend I’m Charlie Brown listening to awah-wah-wah-wahadult, but in this case, he might have a teeny-tiny point, and I really don’t want to get kicked while I’m down. Surprisingly, so far, Griffin isn’t doing that, though he’d be the first one I’d expect to line up to take his shot when I’m on the outs.
I nod, agreeing with Griffin. Except ... “If you’re fucking with me, you should know that at 10:01, I’ll be heading there on my own. Don’t be late. And bring me coffee. Skinny vanilla latte, hot.”
He blinks, hopefully memorizing my Starbucks order if he knows what’s good for him.
“Deal.” He nods but pauses. “Don’t answer your phone or your email tonight. Or your door. And don’t ask me why.”
“Why?” I ask immediately.
He tilts his head, giving me a hard look. “Take it or leave it.”
I have no idea what he’s up to, but a semi-self-imposed evening of disconnect would let me cry into a slice of pizza and soothe my loss with a bubble bath, so though I’m suspicious, I agree. “Deal.”
I hold my hand out, and though he looks like the thought of touching me pains him, Griffin slips his big paw of a hand around mine and shakes, sealing our agreement. He releases me quickly, though, and I try really hard not to be offended by that, but it doesn’t work.
He hates me. Always has, always will. And I need to remember that even if he’s helping me, he hates me.
Chapter 9
Griffin
Shit. Shit. Fuck. Damn.
I need these people to get the hell out of my way. I dodge around a guy taking pictures of a dog on the sidewalk with a grumble, nearly crashing into a door that suddenly opens in my path, and spill Penny’s latte over my hand.
Ahhh! Hot, hot, hot!
I told the barista to make it extra hot so it’d be perfect by the time I got to Penny’s, but now it’s scalding me. I lick it off, noticing the redness already blooming with annoyance, and glance in front of me just in time to see Penny’s cute brown bob flicking over her shoulder as she starts off down the street.
Without me.
I’m gonna kill her.
“Penny!” I shout. People around me flinch at the sudden racket, and I see her shoulders lift so I know she heard me, but instead of stopping, she keeps strutting farther away. In fact, I think she speeds up. “I have your latte!”
Now we have an audience, people stopping as they realize who I’m yelling at and all of them waiting to see her response.Me, too, people.
When Penny holds up a middle finger high in the air and keeps moving, I growl. I’m not late. Or notthatlate, and it’s not my fault the line at the coffee shop was long. I texted that I was on my way. I glance at my watch: 10:04.
Seriously? She’s this pissed over four measly minutes?
“That’s it? You’re not gonna go after her?” a guy mocks from beside me. I cut my eyes his way to find a thirtysomething suit dude smirking at me cockily. “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it. You gotta be strong for the ones that’re worth it,” he advises. “Unless that’s not you. If that’s the case, good for her for ditching you.” He turns wisdom-filled eyes back toward Penny like he’s considering giving chase if I’m not man enough to go for it.
He doesn’t know me, or what the hell he’s talking about, but the cut hurts all the same. He’s right. Not that Penny and I are romantically involved the way he thinks, but she is too good for me. She’s too good for everyone.
Which is why I can’t let her go to sketchy pawnshops and talk to actual criminals on her own. “Fuck,” I hiss as I take off at a trot, trying to keep the latte from spilling again. This time, people do get out of my way at least. I step in front of Penny, forcing her to stop, and hold the latte out like an olive branch. “Here.”
Her amber eyes drop to the cup and then lift back to mine. “No, thanks.”
