But besides Kit, nobody knows.
Or I didn’tthinkanyone knew.
And on the one hand, it doesn’t matter. Iknowit doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s not like I’m the one doing tattoos and actually writing stuff on people’s bodies, for one thing. Bikes don’tneedyou to read.
But on the other hand…
I swallow as Kit opens the back door and chucks the empty carton toward the dumpster.
On the other hand, I don’t need anyone else to know how dumb I am. Not Pan, not Blue—definitely not Blue. Not even Tink.
Tink’s…cool.
“The fuck?”
I snap my head up. It’s Blue, coming in from the alley, flicking away a cigarette. Must have gone down the fire escape right from his room.
And he’s holding an empty carton.
“Aw, look, she dances when you’re angry.” Kit, now next to him, pokes Blue in the chest, where there’s a pinup girl with blacked-out eyes inked along the skin of his pec.
Blue ignores him. Stares at Tink.
Tink notices, finally. “What?”
Blue stares.
“Jesus,” Tink mutters. “Seriously? Wasn’t me.” He casts around the room, as if asking me and Kit to come to his defense.
Which I guess I can.
“It was me,” I say, raising my hand a little. “Uh, sorry. I’m…really fucking hungover.”
Blue stares. Then throws the carton at me.
“Idiot.”
He stalks out to the shop.
“Sorry,princess,” I yell after him. “Next time, uh…”
I don’t know what he should do next time. Damn. I’ve got to work on my retorts.
Kit cranes his neck to watch Blue go, then swivels back to us. “Remind me why we put up with him again?”
“‘Cause he’s good at what he does,” Pan ticks off on his fingers, chewing again—the other half of Kit’s orange, I notice. “He listens to me, and he’s honest. Same reason as any of you.” He swallows, rubs his hands together, and gives himself two smacks in the cheeks. “Okay. Look alive.” He flashes a smile. “Big day today, gents.”
“Not for me.” Kit stirs some hot water into his instant espresso. “I’m booked solid in the shop. Dunno about Captain Sunshine out there, but?—”
“Me neither,” Tink adds. “I’m actually just gonna…”
He inches toward the door, bag back over his shoulder. Pan looks a little put out.
“Okay, big day forme,” Pan says. “I’ve got my money and I’m riding my ass down to Kensington and getting my goddamn jacket back,” he announces.
Kit laughs into his coffee. “You mean you actually have something left over from last night?”
“Yeah,” Pan says hotly. Then shrugs. “I mean, more or less. A few hundred for sure.”
