“So who or what is it?”
I slipped down off the bed and crossed over to him, placing one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the desk. We were just gonna pretend it wasn’t sticky. (It was very, very sticky.)
“There’s this bar. Sullivan’s.” I waited to see if there was any sort of recognition on his face, if his spine stiffened in his seat, or if my Batcave was still my Batcave. Computer Boy didn’t spend much time with real-life people so it was harder for him to hide what he was thinking.
“Local?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Okay? What about it?”
“I need you to worm your geeky way into their security cameras.”
His back straightened but not because he knew something. It was because he didn’t. “For what reason?”
I leaned forward, slipped a hand in side his hoodie pocket, and tugged the stuffed rabbit out. I held it just over his head. “For this reason. And nothing else.”
He snatched the rabbit back and tossed it into one of his drawers. There was no getting in there after he slammed it shut. His desk automatically locked and only his fingerprint would open it again.
Though I suppose I could remove a digit or two while he was sleeping…Wonder how deep I could go before he woke up…?
Bugs nudged me from his chair, and I stepped back off him so he could do whatever it was he did. “Okay, I’m in,” he announced a few minutes later. “What now?”
“Now you get the fuck out.” I yanked him up by the hood and shoved him towards the door.
“It’s my room, asshole,” he grunted.
Guess Bellatrix wasn’t the only one who called me that. I liked it a lot better when she said it, though.
“Yeah, well, for the next few hours, it’s mine too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
BELLATRIX
Bobby dropped the drink off at the guy’s table—didn’t know if he told me his name was Bobby or I just remembered it from the other night—and glanced over his shoulder like he was being watched.
He was. By me. But for some reason, I didn’t think I was the one he was worried about.
I raised my glass in his direction and he shook his head, grumbling as he stomped his way back behind the bar. He didn’t make eye contact though. It was probably better for both of us that he didn’t. I didn’t know how long I’d be staying upstairs, and from what I’d heard, it wasn’t a great idea to piss off your neighbors.
Wouldn’t know from experience. Vee, Gabby, and I never really had any. Not the traditional kind. Just people we took in, or on the occasion, people who took us in. And usually we were all too desperate to piss anyone off but each other.
When I turned back around, letting Bobby continue to grumble to himself, the guy from across the bar was sipping from his new beer and staring at me. His mouth tipped intoa half-smirk and his neck doing that jerking motion that was supposed to tell me to “come on over” but looked more like a chicken pecking at loose pieces of corn.
I slammed my empty glass onto the counter, loud enough to get Bobby’s attention. Because what girl doesn’t enjoy an audience when she’s about to do something she shouldn’t but was gonna do anyway because someone told her she shouldn’t and she didn’t like being told what to do. Then I slipped off the stool and closed the distance, using my hip to nudge my new friend over a few inches so I could slide in beside him.
“Hi.” He grinned.
“Hi.” I extended a hand. He looked down for a moment before taking it. “I’m Bells.”
“Ain’t the guy supposed to be the one buying the drink?” he said, instead of telling me his name, which told me something else. He didn’t want me to know it.
I didn’t see a tan line around his ring finger when he finally shook my hand. So probably a girlfriend or a fiancée. It was also why he didn’t mind taking the free drink, even though he made a point to complain about it. When someone was buying for you, you didn’t have to explain the receipts.
I couldn’t tell you how many wives and girlfriends came to our door with piles of receipts and a breakdown of what each item should cost for one person and didn’t. The devil was always in the details. If you were gonna lie, you had to lie well or don’t bother doing it at all.
“I think a guy deserves a little pampering now and then, don’t you?” I reached a hand under the table and began rubbing along the inseam of his too-tight jeans.
