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She grabs my shirt and pulls me to face her. “Promise you won’t tell.” I have to read her lips because her hands are clutching my shirt tightly.
“I promise,” I tell her.
She looks doubtful.
“You can trust me,” I say.
She heaves out another sigh. “Okay.” She nods. “Thank you for the sandwich.”
“Will you go out with me?” I suddenly ask.
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
“When you can come up with a better reason, ask me again, okay?” she says. She’s being sarcastic. I can tell by the way she’s holding her body.
She goes to the door, opens it and slips through, and I see two big men waiting for her in the hallway, so I know she’s okay. It’s not until five minutes later that I realize she was wearing my cap when she left.
Fuck.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out.
Samantha: Were you just with a Zero?
Me: Why is that your business?
Samantha: Are you kidding? Zero!
Me: Again, none of your business.
Samantha: You still hate me?
Me: I’d have
to care in order to hate you.
Samantha: Cold
I don’t respond to her after that and she doesn’t either. I do text Friday Reed, though.
Me: Do you have Lark’s phone #?
Tatted Bombshell (She put her phone number and name in my phone herself.): Why do you want it?
Me: Why do you care?
Tatted Bombshell: Are you being serious right now?
Me: She has my cap. I need to get it back.
Tatted Bombshell: I’ll text her and let her know.
Me: Why can’t you just give me her number?
Tatted Bombshell: She might not want you to have it.
Me: Then she can tell me that.
