I text him back.
Fitz:That’s a very unattractive photo of Salinger.
Faulkner:Yeah, that vein in his forehead is rough.
“Incoming,” the radio crackles.
It’s just Winnie.
Her car rolls down the street.
I sigh.
Watch her get out.
Go back to my phone and start deciding which of my basketball players I’m shipping to the East Coast since they lost their last game. I delete the pleading messages from the GMs to leave things alone.
I don’t like her alone by herself. Hopefully, this will draw the guy out. I stare at her house.
Wait. “She’s undressing in front of the window.”
“Just a little peep show,” Crawford is saying into the comm.
I punch my brother in the arm.
“Ow.”
“Don’t look.”
“God, you’re still a territorial little shit. You would always get pissed when someone dared to touch whatever garbage you had scrounged up.”
“No one touches my stuff.”
“Baithas to be enticing.”
I scowl.
“Okay, I didn’t tell her to take off her bra,” he tells me.
She has her back to the window.
I watch the bra slide off.
My eyes trace the hourglass of her waist.
“You know what I think,” Crawford drawls as I fume. “I think she knows you’re watching, and she’s fucking with you.” He smirks. “Heh. I like her.”
“You don’t get to like her.”
“You seriously need therapy or a real job or something.”
The sun dropslow in the sky and sets.
“Nothing happens.”
Crawford ignored me.
“More nothing happens...”
