He kissed me one more time, then turned to walk away. “Thanks, Peyton. Have a good night.”
I stood there for a second, speechless. Was that seriously it? But then I noticed something on the ground. His wallet was lying there, wide open, and I squatted to grab it. When I did, I noticed the full name, written out on the ID.
Alastair Alexander Brown.
I blinked. Alastair Brown. My business partner’s last name was Brown, and he had a brother named Alastair, a DJ.
Shock and confusion swirled through the other emotions, but I snapped out of it enough to call out. “Jet! Your wallet.”
He turned, spotted it in my hand, and grinned. “Can’t forget that,” he said, then jogged the few steps back to me. “Thanks again.”
That chin. I finally knew why that chin looked so familiar.
Alastair Brown.
A DJ.
Pittsburgh.
Oh fuck, did I just blow Noah’s brother in an alley?
