Page 27 of Riot

“That did not answer the question,” I said, and my voice had a chill to it that surprised even me.

Miguel grinned sidelong. “I’m here for the emotional labor,” he said. “And the scenery.” His eyes flicked up and down, and I was suddenly aware of my own posture, arms braced on the counter, back arched.

Before I could think of a way to shut him down without escalating things, Mrs. Hensley called out from the back, “Sorry to bother you!” Her timing was so off it looped around to impressive. I almost laughed at how perfectly she’d delivered the line. Her voice bounced off the tiled walls and landed in the tense air between us.

I held up a finger in the international sign for “one moment, please,” and said, “Give me a minute.” Then I pointed at Ramos, careful to keep my eyes locked on his. “Do not touch anything.”

His eyebrows went up, all wounded dignity. “I’m not a raccoon,” he said, and for half a second, I saw the ghost of his old smile, the one from before.

“Debatable,” I said and walked away before I could see how he reacted.

Mrs. Hensley had managed to tangle two fitted sheets together in a way that suggested they were trying out for an escape act. She hovered beside the cart with her hands half buried in the fabric, apologizing at me with every breath. Her fingers shook as she tried to untwist the corner elastic, and I realized she was more than flustered—she was nervous. Not at the laundry, not at me, but at the two guys in the front. I didn’t blame her. They looked like the kind of men who could make anything, even a laundromat at two in the afternoon, feel dangerous.

I kept my tone gentle. “Here, let me,” I said and took the whole bundle from her. I’d had a lot of practice with knots. Ramos had always been the type to tie things up, shoelaces or jump ropes or emotions, and it took about thirty seconds to free the sheets. I stacked them neatly on the edge of her cart.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” she said, releasing a breath. “I just can’t seem to get anything right today.” Her voice was crisp with embarrassment, but her eyes kept flickering past me to the front.

“It’s no trouble,” I said, loud enough that Ramos and Miguel would hear it. “That’s what I’m here for.”

She patted my hand with her paper-dry palm. “You’re a real gem. If I had grandkids, I’d want them to be just like you.”

I smiled at her but couldn’t quite make it stick. I could feel the tension warping the air from the front of the room. Dryer doors clanged open and shut, coins rattled in the vending machine. It felt a little like the last fifteen seconds before a car accident, familiar things happening but with the sense that any minute something would collide.

She wheeled her cart away, sheet problem solved, and I stood there for a moment, just breathing and letting my heart slow. Across the room, I could see Niles still leaning against the wall, sunglasses now back on, arms crossed like he was guarding the perimeter. It was almost funny. He was barely taller than me, but he looked like he’d snap a pool cue over his knee and go to war if needed.

I returned to the counter, hoping maybe Ramos and Miguel had taken the hint and left. But they were both still there. Ramos had shifted his weight, and now drummed his fingers on the Formica surface while staring at the detergent shelf.

Miguel’s eyes tracked my every move, and I was suddenly aware of how much they reminded me of a fox I’d once seen at the zoo. Not hungry, exactly, but studying the locks on the cage, just in case.

“So,” I said, wishing I could inject a little more steel into the word. “You two need cash for food.”

Ramos gave a shrug so slight it might have been a twitch. “Just for me. Things are weird right now.”

I didn’t ask what weird meant. I didn’t want to know.

Miguel smirked. “He’s not mooching. Just—”

“Borrowing,” Ramos finished, and for a second, their voices overlapped in perfect harmony.

I glanced at the cash drawer. “You know I can’t just give away the register.”

“Nobody asked you to,” Ramos said. “Just thought you’d have a few bucks.”

I caught the way his fist curled and uncurled, a stutter of nerves. I remembered the way those hands used to palm a basketball, his grip as easy as his laughter. Now they looked older, raw, like he’d punched through drywall more recently than he wanted to admit.

I shifted my gaze to Miguel. “What about you?”

He grinned. “What about me?”

“You don’t have a job either?”

His smile widened, wolfish. He was not at all embarrassed. “It’s hard to keep a job when you’re overqualified for the pay.”

Niles snorted from near the wall. Miguel ignored him.

Grabbing the money from the tip jar, I handed it to Ramos. “Get yourself something to eat. We’ll work out the food situation later.”

“Thanks, little bro.”