Page 93 of Tony

Isn’t that how love is done? Don’t you just… fall into it? Isn’t that the whole point?

I’m pretty sure it is.

So if it’s not the business and it’s not Soshee, then what the hell is bothering me?

I stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to make sense of this vague feeling of uneasiness.

It’s probably the whole FBI thing. I mean, that’s kind of a big deal and my family is in it up to our ears. There’s the witness protection program. And the little dog from the coffee shop next to Sick Boyz has to mean something.

All that stuff is important. Maybe even very important.

But that’s not it either. It should be it. All three of the things I listed as possibilities should be my major problem.

But they just aren’t.

I push the covers off me and swing my legs out of bed. Soshee moans and turns over, flashing me her perfect breasts in the process.

“Are you awake?” I ask.

She groans and makes a face. Then cracks open one eye. “Holy shit, he’s alive.”

“I slept forever, huh?”

“You just flat passed out.” She props herself up on one elbow and smiles at me. It takes all my self-control not to look at her tits when she does that. And when I succeed, I feel pretty proud of myself. Because damn, they are spectacular. “I was checking your breathing with a mirror,” she continues. “I guess you were exhausted. Did I wear you out?”

“No.” I chuckle. “I hadn’t been sleeping very well over the past few months.”

“Months? Jesus. You must really have something on your mind if it’s lasted months. I’ve gone through a few bouts of insomnia.” She winces. “But if I’m being honest, they were mostly all about Vann.”

“Stayed up late stalking him?”

“That and… you know. It feels kinda shitty when you have a crush on someone and they don’t feel the same way back.”

“Yeah. I agree.”

“Because you felt that way about Belinda?” She frowns. “Rosalie?”

“Rosalinda.” I chuckle.

Soshee points at me. “Yeah. Her.”

“No.” I sigh. “I never did feel that way about her. I mean…” I don’t know how to explain this. “Of course, there were lingering feelings. But they were not of the love-sick variety.”

“What variety were they?”

“You know.” I shrug. “Break-up hate. Or… something.”

“Break-up hate.”

“Yeah.” I sigh again. “I can’t explain it.”

“No, I get it. You were stuck.”

“Yeah. Stuck.”

“So how did you get unstuck?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”