Page 53 of Detour

The lampposts lighting the dim parking lot buzz with swarms of bugs surrounding the bulbs.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. The sudden urge to get upstairs is overwhelming.

“I can meet with you when I come in tomorrow.”

“That won’t work. I can’t talk about this there. It’s about Amity.”

Amity? “I don’t really know her. Not sure how I’d be any help.”

“I think she’s stealing.”

I pause, my hands full of my two reusable grocery bags. I’d already suspected Amity was the one to lift those tips that day we shared a shift but I didn’t have enough proof to say anything. At the time though, it had seemed like Joe was captain of Team Amity, so now I’m wondering what happened to make him bow out of her corner. And more importantly, why is he bringing this up to me?

“That’s why I need you to take over her shifts. We need to discuss the change. Privately.”

Leaning against my Jeep, I kick a pebble with my shoe, sending it skidding across the deserted asphalt.

“I already said I would talk to you about that after I graduate. I can’t take over Amity’s shifts while I’m still in school. I’m not sure what else we would need to talk about.”

“I could come to you.”

What? Why the hell is he pushing this? There’s no plausible explanation for us to meet after hours. Plus, he has to know I don’t trust him after the shit he pulled. Right?

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll talk to you at work.”

“You know I could just get your address from the office, don’t you?”

My heart stops. My address. The day he insisted I write down my apartment number comes to mind. Fuuuuck.

I scan my surroundings again. I’ve been so busy wondering about those nosey neighbors of mine that I didn’t even think to look for anyone else. Straightening, I hurry over to the building, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Actually, I need to let you go. Some friends are stopping over so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I don’t wait for his response before hanging up. Hopefully the thought of a crowd will scare him off. Although he seems to be growing bolder, I can only hope he doesn’t get reckless. Regardless, Joe threatening to use my address has my stomach in knots. I’m not sure what I’d do if he followed through and I don’t plan on finding out.

CHAPTER 20

Angela

A s it turns out, Joe’s dilemma wasn’t all that pressing. Imagine my surprise when I found out Little Miss Thievery herself would be working alongside me today. Then to confuse matters more, Joe treated Amity much the same as he did the last time the three of us shared a shift. Flirtatious. Familiar. Baffling. Downright disgusting. All further proving that the crap Joe tried selling me last night was just that—shit.

The only saving grace was that with the object of his affections—and suspicions—present, it kept Joe away from me. The three of us worked well together, meaning they worked and flirted while I kept to myself in the front drying cars, washing and folding towels, scrubbing invisible stains off my shoes, pretending to tan in full view of witnesses—I mean customers—during lulls, and any other menial task I could think of.

Sadly, during one of those faux chores some tips magically went missing. It’s not hard to pinpoint exactly who the thief was—their name rhymes with calamity—but I would like to know whether or not Joe knows. If he does, what’s he going to do about it? And if not, am I willing to risk my job by throwing her stealing ass under the already unprofessional bus? I don’t know the answers yet, but that money was earned by my hands which is where it should’ve stayed, damn it.

* * *

Less tips means eating in, so after a measly dinner of frozen tortellini—ketchup doubles as tomato sauce, right?—I’m on my bed scrolling through new music when there’s a round of four knocks at the door.

Louder than necessary, I yell, “Who is it?” Truthfully, I could’ve spoken normally and they would’ve heard me, but I want whoever is on the other side to know I can, and will, be loud. Also, I wait for an answer before opening it this time.

“Your incredibly sexy neighbor ready to take you for the ride of your life.”

Despite the cheesiness, I grin and pull the door open to a drop-dead gorgeous Coty. He wasn’t joking about the incredibly sexy part. I’m almost positive he wasn’t kidding about the ride either.

On the verge of blushing from images his statement creates, I cross my arms, throwing on my best scowl.

“Damn, I was hoping it was Beckett.”