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I want to ask how I can stand there like everything’s normal, like he didn’t ravish me last night. Or like I didn’t jump him and . . . what I need is to get myself under control. Because he’s right, and I didn’t pay attention because I didn’t think I had to.
“Karlee,” he says like he’s reading me, “just anything.”
“They were maybe mid-twenties, dark hair? But they could have been college students or anyone.”
He nods, and, he starts to pepper me with all sorts of things, stuff I’ve no idea about. Sneakers are sneakers to me, andwho the hell other than maybe a designer or fashion influencer recognizes jean brands?
As for the sweatshirts? Gray and black and pretty much the same as most kids wear, a little oversized but . . .
“I got nothing.”
“No shit,” he says.
I glare. “Next time, I’ll take a photo.”
“You said questions?”
I set my cup down and push up, but his gaze hits the stool, and I sigh and sit again. “I don’t know. I mean, I know. They were questions about Fallon, where he was, when he’d be back, if he gave me anything. The thing is I don’t like questions. So, I shut down. I don’t know who they are or how they know Fallon, so. . . I just go on autopilot.”
“Like when you were on the streets?”
My dislike is hot and sharp. “Yes. Questions are trouble in some situations. And worse than that, how you both respond and don’t respond can lead to trouble, so if you tune out and don’t know a thing then nothing is given away, even when you don’t know a thing.”
Tizio rubs a hand over his face. “I get it, but it’s not fucking helpful right now.”
“Sorry.”
His gaze meets mine. “You’re not.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sends a text. “I’ve got a full day, so you?—”
“I’m going to the college to do some work.”
“Looking like . . . I don’t even know what the fuck you’re looking like, and does your brother know you stole his shirt?”
I gasp. “How do you know?”
“His favorite brand. Always wore them back in the day.”
Okay, now I’m dying to know what back in the day meant and why my brother wore fancy button-downs made to go with a nicesuit. I clench my hands on the bench, trying to stop myself from asking.
Mr. Prick here isn’t going to give me a thing, and I’m not giving him the satisfaction of having me ask.
This time, when I get up, I set my shoulders to ready for his order to sit, but it doesn’t come. See? Mr. Prick. Hot and beautiful and can kiss like no one’s business, and his hand between my legs was nothing more than a tease, but . . . a prick.
I need air, a fan, and a cold shower.
“You’re not going anywhere. Or, if you do, it’s going to be with Avah and Nadia.” He goes to his bag and starts looking for something, his mug set neatly in the sink. Tizio pulls out an iPad, fires it up, and frowns as he reads something on there. I try to look, but he shuts it down and puts it back.
He mutters something about the first appointment not being close, but then he casts me a look. “Avah’s around your age, maybe a year or so older. Don’t try anything on them. Nadia’s a hard ass, and you’ll also have security tailing you.”
Without waiting, he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door, pulling it open, and a pretty blonde and a woman with long black hair arrive.
Then he’s gone.
I try hard to control the frustration of being palmed off to people I don’t know, like I’m a child.
“I’m Karlee.”
“Avah,” says the blonde.
