Page 90 of When a Soul Cries

Her eyebrows pulled together.

“That doesn't even make sense.”

“It made sense to me.”

She stared at me.

I stared back.

Then I took another drink.

The fuck else was I supposed to do?

Her lips parted like she was about to question me again, but something over her shoulder caught my attention.

Or somebody.

I stopped mid-sip.

Well, I'll be damned.

Sitting at the far end of the bar with one leg crossed over the other and a drink resting between her fingers was the same smart-mouthed woman from the gas station.

Zari.

I remembered her name because apparently my brain could remember *that* but couldn't remember shit about somebody's cousin from thirty seconds ago.

She looked different tonight.

At the gas station, she'd been in a hurry, worried about the sick baby strapped in the back seat. Tonight, she looked relaxed. Hair done. Lips glossy. Outfit hugging everything it needed to hug without doing too damn much.

I sat my glass down.

There went my whole fucking evening.

“Khalil?”

“Hm?”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Nope.”

At least I was honest this time.

Her mouth dropped open.

I slid out of the booth.

“Where are you going?”

“Handle some business.”

“What business?”

I glanced toward the bar.

Zari chose that exact moment to look in my direction.