Page 27 of Dirty

“Well, I like you just the way you are.”

He chuckled. “Thanks.”

I scooted across the couch and grabbed my phone. “What’s your phone number?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got a phone, right? They let you have a phone, don’t they? You’ve got one, you used it that night to call the tall guy, Pee Bee.”

“Good memory,” he said. “And, yeah. They let me have a phone.”

“What’s your number?”

“Why do you want it?”

He’d backed me into a corner. One of my character flaws was that I said whatever was on my mind. Another was that I always told the truth. The two, combined, often got me into trouble.

“I think about you sometimes, and I haven’t got a way to get ahold of you. The thought of losing touch with you makes me uncomfortable. What’s your number?”

“4-4-7-1-0-5-0.”

“4-4-2?”

He shook his head. “7-6-0.”

I punched the number into my phone, reciting it as I did so. “7-6-0-4-4-7-1-0-5-0?”

“Yep.”

“Adam Cholo Downey.”

“Cholo.”

“I like Adam.”

“Cholo.”

I looked up. “Cholo, then.”

He reached inside his vest and pulled out his phone. “What’s your number?”

I hoped he wouldn’t ask, but I fully expected him to.

I sighed. “I don’t give out my number.”

“What is it?”

“Seriously, I don’t give it out. Ever. Not until I’m comfortable. It’s like a weird quirk or something, but I’m being serious.”

“You’re not comfortable with me?”

I felt embarrassed. “Kind of. I don’t know.”

He nodded and put the phone back inside his vest. I felt bad, but didn’t feel comfortable giving him my number. At least not yet. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Not big deal. So, when’s your mother going to be here?”

“She’s on nights this week, her schedule alternates. So, like 7:00 in the morning.”