“What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
To that, his lips twitched. “I was taking a walk.”
“Sure you were. Now, the question is, are you here to buy drugs? Meet a girl? Steal shit?”
“I have my own money.” He puffed up at that. “And I don’t have a girl.”
“Drugs then. Great.”
“It’s not drugs.”
“What is it then?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re acting shifty as fuck, so it’s something.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Come on, dude. Don’t make me be a narc.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do.”
He walked past me, dropping Tuna into my arms, then continued down the street while my dog cried for the love of his life.
I reached for my phone, hating that the kid was making me do the unthinkable.
Reach out to Christopher freaking Costa.
The phone rang twice before he answered.
“Alara?” Was that pleasure in his voice? Or my own wishful thinking? “Is everything okay?”
“Your pain-in-the-ass nephew is making me be a rat, and I hate him for it.”
“What? Liam?”
“Yeah. Liam is on my street and being sketchy as hell. He won’t tell me what he’s up to, so I thought you might want to know.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hung up.
On him.
On the flutter in my chest at his voice.
On the flip-flop sensation in my stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.
But I didn’t have to see him.
I could just lock my shop and disappear into the back room.
That is until there was a knock on the door.
